


Surreal But Nice

by moonflowers



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Actor Eggsy, Domestic, F/M, Family, Fluff, Harry is a drama queen, Humour, I hope, I talk about desserts a lot, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings, Notting Hill AU, Pining, Ronan Keating plays softly in the distance, Tailor Harry, Wheelchair user Roxy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:02:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonflowers/pseuds/moonflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry had of course seen his films, and always thought he was rather lovely, but a million miles away from the world that he lived in.</p><p>"Full of gags, well-crafted one liners and a loveable cast, this is British romantic comedy at it's heart-warming best. An excellent date movie that'll make you laugh, cry, and go damp in all the right places." - The Sun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my Notting Hill AU. Yep, that is The Sun's actual review on the back of the DVD.  
> Writing Colin Firth as Hugh Grant feels so wrong you have no idea. I've used a fair few lines straight from the film, so be warned, if there's something particularly hilarious, I probably didn't write it. Mostly T or M rated really, but a couple of chapters bump it up to E.

Harry had of course seen his films, and always thought he was rather lovely, but a million miles away from the world that he lived in. Which happened to be Notting Hill, his favourite part of London, and had been so for the past twenty years. He knew it all, the various shops and cafes and market stalls owned by people with who he wouldn't say he was particularly close, but familiar faces he'd nod or smile politely to, and who would enquire after his day in return. Several of his friends had also settled down close by, enough so that walking to visit them was no hardship, and they frequently found themselves sitting around the table of an evening, the lot of them drinking wine and wondering when it was they'd gotten so old. Every other sentence seemed to start with 'Do you remember when...' these days. They tended to gather at one of their homes rather than Harry's - the little house with a blue door purchased ten years back with his wife, before she'd left him for a man who looked alarmingly like Hugh Grant - and this was for two reasons. Firstly because it was spread over three floors, and so rendered utterly impractical for Roxy's wheelchair, though she claimed it was actually because of his appalling taste in home furnishings. Secondly because of his lodger, self-proclaimed eco-warrior Richmond Valentine, proud sponsor of a snow leopard, an orang-utan and three donkeys, and the owner of the world's most ludicrous wardrobe. 

It was a Wednesday, when Harry's strange half-life ceased to plod along in the way he'd grown accustomed to, and while he was at work of all places. Work was an independent tailor's shop, small enough that he could run it mostly by himself, yet high-end to the degree that his turnover was enough for him to get by more than comfortably. And while he wouldn't claim to be passionate about it, he enjoyed his work to an extent and took enormous pride in it. He was well aware that there were considerably more trying ways to be earning one's living.  
He was busy glaring at the stock take and willing the tie pins to count themselves, when the bell above the door rang. All too keen for a distraction from the arduous and infinitely dull task, Harry looked up to greet the customer, only to have the words stutter and die to nothing on his tongue, because _bloody fucking hell._ The man was wearing sunglasses and a cap pulled low to give a semblance of anonymity, along with the most eye-watering yet no doubt expensive jacket Harry had ever borne witness to, but there was no mistaking it. 

_Gary Unwin._

The young actor that Harry had been daydreaming about - sometimes innocently, sometimes not so much so - on and off for the past year or so, since he'd made a name for himself. He was in his mid-twenties, perhaps almost generically good-looking to some, but not to Harry, who believed him to be the most gorgeous creature he'd ever witnessed. Some people claimed to be disappointed when meeting an actor in real life after their glimmering screen presence, but it turned out Harry was very much not one of those people. 

"Good morning," Harry said, because no matter how this mess turned out, he'd ensure he was at the very least a gentleman to the bitter end.

Gary looked up as thought he'd only just noticed Harry was there - which, lets face it, he probably had - tilted his chin up, quirked his lips in a smile. "Alright bruv."

Harry wasn't sure if that was meant to be a question or a greeting, so he bypassed it entirely, and went instead for his usual - "do let me know if I can be of any assistance."

"Safe," the man flashed him another smile before starting to poke through - shock horror - a rail of off the rack formal trousers. Harry really only kept them there for display purposes, as samples, or if a customer needed something in a rush, and it actually pained him to think of this exquisite young man dressed in something so below him. It would be bespoke for the boy or nothing at all, if it were down to him. Gary then chose to get Harry's back up further by wandering over to the shelves stacked with neatly folded shirts in an array of tasteful colours, but reaching out for the worst of the lot - a pale pink that would be just dreadful with his colouring. And really, Harry couldn't let that happen. It would be a crime against, well, everything, both boy and shirt.

"Forgive me," he said, cautious but firmly, "but I think blue would be rather more your colour."

Gary turned, blinked at him slowly. "You what, mate?"

"Don't get the pink. The powder blue would suit you better."

The man just snorted in amusement and shook his head, continued to rifle through the shirts a little longer before turning to the ties, leaving Harry to scream internally and wonder what the bloody fuck he was meant to do now other than stand there stewing in awkward silence.

"I'll take these thanks," Gary dropped the pink shirt and a pair of the unworthy dress trousers on the counter.

"Right you are, sir," Harry said, careful to keep neutral about his opinions on said items. If it were anyone else, he wouldn't have bothered. "I'll throw in the blue shirt as well," he said, grabbing the more sober shirt in the correct size from the shelf and adding it to the bag free of charge, because he was a sad old man who couldn't help himself when faced with the chance to spoil the pretty young thing. Although he very much doubted the boy needed spoiling, what with all the millions he must've had to his name. 

"Nice of you," Gary said carefully as he handed over his card, as though he wasn't quite sure if he could trust him. Which was probably fair, Harry thought as he waited for the receipt to print, he'd seen Gary's fans lining the red carpet at various events, and many of them seemed keen to offer him much more than a free shirt.

"Well, if nothing else it'll be good for drying dishes, or polishing shoes, that sort of thing," he'd meant it s a joke but actually found the very thought rather more alarming than expected.

Mr Unwin smiled prettily enough as he left, though Harry suspected it was more to humour an old man's transparent flirting rather than with any real feeling, and he was left wondering whether the encounter had even happened at all. 

Harry still wasn't sure if it had all been a figment of his poor deprived imagination when he closed the shop for lunch an hour later, and headed down to his favoured café a few doors along the street. He ordered nothing more than an orange juice, because he promised his little sister he'd try to drink less tea and coffee, although to be honest he almost needed a whiskey after the morning he'd had.  
Admittedly, he wasn't really looking where he was going, distracted by something across the road and the lingering unreality of the encounter, when he rounded the corner and smacked right into someone, wincing as the chilled orange juice sloshed and soaked through his shirt. Before he could even begin the profuse apologies that were sure to come - even though it was just as much the other person's fault as his - the words died on his tongue because fuck everything it was Gary Unwin again. Rest assured, Harry's apologies would be slightly more sincere for it. 

"Aw fucking bollocks - shit," the boy swore blue murder as the orange juice soaked him just as thoroughly. Though once he'd had a moment to get over the surprise and looked up to see just who it was who'd accidentally assaulted him with a chilled beverage, he actually appeared more amused than anything. "Oh," his mouth tipped into that quiet little smile again, one that seemed far too intimate to be gifted to a man he'd only met twice, and been criticised for his fashion choices and had orange juice thrown at him, respectively. "Hello again."

"Hello," Harry grimaced. "I'm terribly sorry..." he glanced down to where Gary's previously spotless white polo shirt had a ghastly orange mess splashed all down the front. The wet fabric clung to his chest just a little, and alright maybe Harry looked him over for longer than was strictly necessary, and wasn't quite so sorry about it as he'd intended to be.

"S'alright bruv, coulda happened to anyone," Gary shrugged, as nonchalant about the entire thing as if strangers doused him with fruit juice on a regular basis. 

"I - alright," Harry said, taken aback by the distinct lack of anger, or even irritation, before his manners caught up with him. "But if you need somewhere to clean up, I live just across the road." 

"I just need to get back to the car," Gary bit at his lip in hesitation as he thumbed through his phone. "How close did you say you live?"

"It really is just over the road," Harry nodded to where his front door was visible, "the blue door. We can have you spic and span and back on the street again in no time. In the non-prostitute sense, obviously."

Gary snorted in amusement, shoulders slumping in defeat before he gestured for Harry to lead on. 

The curious swell of nerves and excitement at the thought that Gary Unwin was about to walk into Harry's house abated swiftly when he remembered how much of a sodding mess he'd left the place in. He was by nature a tidy person, but he was also rather prone to being melodramatic, meaning that if he'd had a bad day, he would sigh and bluster and pour himself a gin, lament his woes while watching a soppy film, rather than bother with the comparatively insignificant task of washing up. On top of that, Valentine tended to be more concerned over things like the ivory trade and illegal tropical pets, to which a spot of hoovering paled in comparison. Harry hadn't yet found a strong enough argument against that to get him to pick up the furniture polish. 

Harry pointed him in the direction of the bathroom, and the moment he was out of sight quickly scooped up as many of the dirty dishes as he could, picked up scatter cushions where he'd left them, well, scattered, before stopping to check himself in the mirror, of all the ridiculous things. _Honestly Hart, get a bloody grip._ Regrettably, the orange juice soaking through his own shirt didn't do much to improve the image.  
He wrenched himself away from his peacocking when he heard Gary traipsing back along the hallway, wearing the trousers he'd purchased from Harry's shop, and that ruddy pink shirt, of all things. But fuck did he wear it well... Harry might have been wrong about that colour on him after all. The effect was rather ruined of course, by the fact that he was still wearing that bloody awful cap with it, but the confident tilt of his chin as he walked back into the kitchen, just daring Harry to comment, put him off doing just that. 

"Why the fuck is there a dead dog in there?"

"Ah," Harry inwardly winced. "I gather you've met Mr Pickle then." Well, if he hadn't made himself an utter fool in Unwin's eyes already, he surely would be now. But then, why on earth should it matter? They didn't know each other, and it was highly unlikely they'd ever be crossing paths again, after this unbelievable mess had run it's course. 

"You fucking freak," Gary said, and if it wasn't for the smile bordering on fond he gave Harry as he said it, Harry would've been feeling rather a prat. "The car's on it's way."

"Very good," Harry said, making a valiant effort to pretend that was a good thing. "Can I get you anything? Tea? Coffee?" And before he could check himself, Harry was going through the contents of his fridge in the hopes of finding something for the boy to eat. Valentine seemed to live exclusively of off McDonald's, and Harry was no great chef, but fortunately there was half a cheesecake left from two nights ago when he was having a maudlin moment and turned to desserts for comfort. The boy fell upon the offer of cheesecake with rampant enthusiasm, much to Harry's delight. Which led to a rather surreal twenty minutes of sitting at his kitchen table with Gary Unwin, talking about old spy movies, forks knocking as they shared the wedge of lemon cheesecake.

"The film's only as good as the villain, I find," said Harry some time later, thoroughly distracted by the smudge of cream left behind on Gary's chin.

"Y'know what, you might just be right about that bruv," Gary grinned and fished his phone out of his pocket. "My ride's just around the corner," he said, getting to his feet, and was Harry imagining it or did he look somewhat regretful? Wishful thinking, no doubt. "I'd best get gone."

"Of course," Harry stood too, to show him to the door, "don't let me keep you." 

"Nah, it was fun," Gary said, with another dazzling grin.

"Yes, it was rather nice," said Harry, his vocabulary deserting him. "Surreal," oh fuck, there was that word again, "but nice."

Gary had one hand on the door latch ready to leave, looking back over his shoulder at Harry with that same wistful and inexplicably fond look he'd been gifting him with on and off all afternoon. He looked so dazed, that Harry almost asked if he was feeling alright. In the blink of an eye the man reached up to pull Harry into a kiss by the back of his neck, and he still tasted lemony from the pudding and his lips were chapped and it was quite possibly the best five seconds of Harry's so far rather unremarkable life. 

They broke apart all too soon at the sound of the door clicking open, as Valentine let himself in, barely glancing at the pair of them.

"Oh shit," Harry said softly, waiting for the penny to drop. Fortunately, his flatmate was more interested in his handful of leaflets on green energy than who Harry may or may not have been snogging in the hallway. 

"I've got a story that'll make your balls shrink to the size of raisins, man," is all the greeting they got before he floated off into the kitchen. Gary made no comment, thank the lord, although he did look decidedly more on edge than he had a moment previously, face tight and hands balled at his sides.

"Be a mate and don't tell anyone about this, yeah?" he said with a nervous smile, as though Harry ever would. And alright, he knew it was for practicality's sake on both sides, self-preservation and all that, but that didn't stop him feeling slightly hurt by the notion that Gary may have regretted kissing him.

"I may tell myself from time to time," he said eventually, "though I don't expect I shall believe it." Honestly Hart, lay it on thick why don't you. But then, his flair for dramatics was thriving under this strange and unexpected turn his day had taken. 

"Thanks," is all Gary said in return, and then he was gone, leaving Harry standing alone for the second time that day, utterly bewildered. 

"There is something wrong with this yoghurt," said Valentine as he slouched in the doorway. spoon in hand, wincing, "that shit is nasty."

"It's not yoghurt," said Harry absently, still staring at the door, "it's mayonnaise."

"Oh," Valentine blinked at it a moment, took a sniff, before helping himself to another spoonful, "that's okay then."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short, because it didn't really fit into the chapters either side.

It had been Valentine's suggestion that they have a movie night, and since Harry would have done nothing but brood over the events of the afternoon if left to his own devices, he readily agreed. Valentine had two main criteria when it came to films - they should either make him cry, or have a truly obscene amount of explosions. On any other day, Harry would have marginally preferred one of Valentine's weepies over an hour and a half of unconvincing violence, but today he would have welcomed flamethrowers, automatic weapons and mass hysteria with open arms, because Valentine had chosen one of Gary's films. It was a WW1 biopic, a little quaint but prettily filmed, and, true to form, it had Valentine sobbing within twenty minutes.

"Why do they all have to die, man, it's not fair," he sniffed, reached for another tissue. "But damn," he said some time later, nodding at Gary's character, "that boy can act." 

The only reason - well, not the only reason, Harry wasn't quite that strong-willed - that Harry hadn't left the room yet was that despite his efforts not to overthink the whatever it was that had happened that afternoon, after several hours of Gary's face popping up everywhere he looked - the sides of buses, magazine covers, a trailer for his upcoming film playing on loop on the televisions in the shop window - it was clear that avoiding the thought was getting him nowhere.

"Yes," said Harry, watching as soldier Gary lay on his deathbed, "he certainly can."

~

Two days later, and Harry had heard nothing from Gary at all. Not that it was surprising, he knew the chances of them ever seeing each other again, even by chance, were infinitesimal, but that didn't stop that relentless human urge to cling on to hope, no matter how foolish. He had to stop himself embarking on fantasy scenarios where the two of them bumped into each other again, at a train station, or locking eyes across a crowded bar, the boy coming back to Harry's shop for a suit fitting perhaps... That one was particularly fraught with danger. It was horribly juvenile, and Harry knew full well he'd never been so hung up over a simple infatuation before, even the misguided crushes of his school days hadn't been so embarrassingly soppy.  
He returned home from work that evening just as Valentine was getting ready to go out, and for the sake of something to say, asked if his mother had phoned and left a message - she still refused to acknowledge the existence of mobile phones, and only ever called the landline.

"Nope, that crazy lady you call your mother didn't phone," Valentine adjusted his orange baseball cap in the mirror. "But some guy with that funny-ass London accent called yesterday."

Harry didn't dare hope. "Oh?"

"Yeah. Said his name was Gary, he was staying at the Ritz, then gave himself some other completely different name," Valentine snorted in consternation. "I mean what the fuck. Who does that?"

"Right," Harry fought the urge to bludgeon him to death with the phone. "Any idea what that name might have been?"

"Nah man, get yourself a goddamn answering machine, I ain't your butler."

After a highly awkward telephone conversation with the man behind the desk at the Ritz, halfway through which Valentine triumphantly bellowed 'Flintstone! It was fucking Flintstone!' at him across the room, Harry was by some miracle put through to Gary, who brushed off Harry's apologies and promptly invited him to come and see him the next day. 

What Gary failed to mention was that he was at the Ritz for a press conference and series of interviews regarding his new film, and it was only after some farcical improvisation on Harry's part - claiming to be a journalist with Horse and Hound, of all publications - that he was even granted entry to the suite. 

"Sorry about that bruv," Gary looked sheepish when Harry was at last permitted to enter. He was dressed somewhat more formally than he had been a few days ago; gone was the loud jacket in favour of the smart blue shirt that Harry had given him, though the sleeves were rolled up and the top buttons undone in a way that proved most thoroughly distracting. "I thought this... thing," he waved to the press pack and other paraphernalia for the movie spread over every available surface, "would be over sooner."

"It's no trouble," said Harry, who, more than anything, was feeling a little dazed to have Gary in his presence again. Something he shook off as quickly as possible, with a stern warning to himself to act his bloody age.

"And sorry about the name thing," Gary looked apologetic, rubbed the back of his neck tiredly, "it's a thing I do for privacy, y'know? I always pick whatever cartoon character my little sister's into at the time. I was Mr Elsa for two months last year," he said darkly.

"It's alright. My flatmate..." Harry winced, "well, I'm sure you remember him?"

"He's hard to forget."

"Quite. Apparently taking messages isn't his strong suit."

"No worries bruv," Gary stifled a yawn, "sorry, long day. But did you wanna do something later? I mean," he quickly backpedalled, looking a little flustered, and damned if it wasn't the most adorable thing, "if you're not busy or whatever. Posh bloke like you, probably got a wine tasting, or got to go open an art gallery, or play strip croquet or whatever the fuck it is you do."

"None of the above, I'm afraid," Harry said, rather more smoothly than he felt, "I'm completely free." Except that he wasn't. Shit. "Oh bugger."

"What?"

"Bugger." Once more, with feeling. "It's my sister's birthday. I - we're supposed to be having dinner. I really can't get out of it, I'm afraid." When he was growing up, Harry's parents had adopted a little girl who hadn't had the best of starts in life, and he'd made a thoroughly solemn promise as a boy of twelve that he would never miss one of her birthdays. And of course he had absolutely no intention of breaking it now, but really, of all the cruel tricks fate could play...

"Jesus fuck, don't burst a vein or nothin', yeah?" Gary said, effectively cutting off Harry's rapidly escalating irritation. "I'll go with you."

"...I beg your pardon?"

"I'll be your - " he hesitated, face pink, "I'll be your date, or whatever." The last part was mostly mumbled at the carpet. 

"You'd be my date, to my little sister's birthday party?" Incredulous didn't begin to describe how he felt at that, but it was the closest he could get.

"Err, yeah," said Gary, as though it were a stupid question, "if that's okay."

"I - of course," Harry said, "I'd be honoured."

"Sorted then," Gary grinned at him, reached up to sneak a kiss on to Harry's cheek. "But if we're gunna do this, call me Eggsy, yeah? I fucking hate Gary."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mentions of infertility and disability, and weight, although that last one really is brief. I wrote Gazelle into this literally two days ago, so hopefully it reads ok.

Harry rang the doorbell, which was met with the panicked swearing that could only mean Merlin was cooking, and tried not to stare overmuch at the man standing by his side on the doorstep. Eggsy, as he'd told Harry to call him, was looking at the row of houses with interest, head tipped back and mouth slightly parted, face made pale by the moon. Quite frankly, Harry couldn't believe his fucking luck. 

"Sorry," Eggsy said with a shrug when he noticed Harry watching him, "it's a lot nicer than where I grew up."

That statement raised about a hundred questions all of it's own, none of which Harry could ask, firstly because it would be awfully forward - they had only met twice previously after all, a little soon for probing and probably unwelcome questions about childhood - and secondly because that was the moment Merlin wrenched the door open.

"Sorry," he waved them inside without even looking up, "guinea fowl related disaster." And with that he swept back into the kitchen.

Eggsy looked as though he was about to burst out laughing. "We'd best go in," Harry said, and gestured for Eggsy to go first. 

They stepped into the kitchen just in time to see Merlin shut the oven door, and take a long sip from a glass of red wine. Thankfully he'd opted for a tartan apron that evening, rather than the French maid one that Harry'd bought him as a joke but he insisted on wearing any chance he got. Roxanne must have told him to be on his best behaviour so as not to scare Harry's mystery date away. It about summed up the state of his sorry love life - that his friends went as far as to vet their clothing choices to give Harry the best possible chance of not fucking it up.

"Ah, sorry about that," Merlin said when he noticed them, and set down his glass, "should all be under control now."

"Quite alright," Harry said, and stepped forward to make the introductions. "Eggsy, this is Merlin. He's been stuck with me since university, and has the misfortune to be considered my oldest friend." Merlin snorted, and offered his hand for Eggsy to shake. "Merlin, this is Gary."

"Hello Gary - _Unwin,"_ Merlin finished when he finally looked at Eggsy properly, recognition stilling his features when he realised that a world famous young actor was standing in his kitchen diner. But he quickly gathered his face back into a smile, and let go of Eggsy's hand. "Pleasure to meet you."

"You too," said Eggsy, looking relieved at Merlin's lack of fuss over him.

"Can I get you a drink?"

"Yeah, thanks."

And with that, Merlin whirled off to gather his selection of wines, blithely ignoring Harry's call of, "oi, what about me, you tosser?" They continued to bicker back and forth over drink selections while Eggsy looked on in amusement, until a movement in the doorway caught their attention.

"I thought I heard your dulcet tones," Roxy, Merlin's wife, said as she brought her chair to a halt. 

"Roxanne," Harry crossed over to her, bending to kiss her on the cheek, "you look wonderful." She always did - never a hair out of place, that woman. 

"Flattery will get you everywhere," she smiled and looked over to Eggsy. "Oh, hello. This must be the date you told us to behave for." She held out her hand as her husband had done, smile stuttering as she looked him over, head cocked in confusion. "Good lord, you're the spitting image of - "

"This is Gary," Harry cut in neatly, Eggsy sending a grateful look his way. "Who prefers to be called Eggsy, if it's all the same."

"Of course," she smiled, taking it all in her stride, as she ever did. "Roxanne," they shook hands, "but, please, call me Roxy."

"Roxy," Eggsy nodded, "thanks for havin' me." And just like that, the two of them were friends.

It was all going rather well, though Harry wasn't sure how Eggsy meeting his sister would pan out. His little sister Gabriella - Gazzy, since she vehemently disliked her given name - who his parents had adopted when Harry was twelve and it was apparent they'd never have another child, and of whom Harry was fiercely protective if you caught him on a bad day. Not that she needed it - she was proficient in more areas of the martial arts than Harry even knew existed. She also had a movie collection to rival Valentine's. Every DVD title you could think of was crammed onto every shelf of her tiny flat, she had seen Eggsy's last film at the cinema no fewer than four times, and who of course recognised him the moment she stepped into the kitchen.

"Holy fuck." She stopped short, openly gaping at him.

"Happy birthday, Gazzy," said Harry gamely, and kissed her on the cheek, taking care to avoid the red flower she had pinned meticulously into her hair. "This is - "

"I know who he is," she shrugged Harry off in favour of taking the hand Eggsy offered her. "Harry, I think this might be the best birthday present you've gotten me," she said, before adding to Eggsy in a stage whisper, "and he got me an actual pony once."

"It's uh, it's good to meet you," said Eggsy, managing not to wince at her no doubt intimidatingly firm handshake.

"You too," she said with a small smile, "you're very talented."

"I think that's about the highest praise I've ever heard her give anyone," said Harry, "I'd take it if I were you."

"Lucky me," Eggsy said smoothly, his smile genuine. He extricated himself and held out the bunch of flowers he'd brought for her, bless him, despite Harry insisting he didn't have to. "Here. Happy birthday."

"You got me flowers," she said, taking them reverently and sniffing at the orange lilies, looking positively blissful. "You should marry Harry, he's a really great guy, I promise. Then we'd be family."

"I'll give it some thought," said Eggsy, and tipped her a wink. Bloody hell, if Harry wasn't half in love with the man already, that more or less cemented it.

"But I will have to kill you if you hurt him," she said cheerfully, "no matter how much I love your ass and your movies." And with that she skipped off to say hello to Roxy.

Thankfully Eggsy was spared any more odd proposals from Gazzy by the arrival of James, who was always somewhat of a whirlwind, all smiling and bluster, and with enough presence to sufficiently distract from anything else. It was all laughter and many happy returns and more wine, introductions were made, and after a few seconds of expectant silence, it became obvious James had absolutely no idea who the fuck Eggsy was.

"How're things at the office then, James?" Merlin said when it became clear that he hadn't clocked on to the fact that the enormously rich and famous actor Gary Unwin was attending the birthday party of his friend's little sister. 

"Oh, same old, same old," James waved the questions away and took the glass Merlin held out to him, "millions of pounds down the drain and so forth," he said cheerfully and took a large gulp of red. 

"Harry," said Merlin as James enquired about what Eggsy did for a living, lord help them, "give me a hand finishing off the table settings, would you?" 

"My pleasure," Harry said, feeling brave enough to briefly squeeze Eggsy's arm in a gesture of good luck and leave him at the mercy of his friends. The fluttery little smile he got in response made this whole utterly mad evening so far very much worth it. 

"Have you shagged him?" Merlin said bluntly as the two of them gathered up an array of candles from a cupboard in the living room, out of earshot of the others. 

"That is a cheap question, and the answer is of course, no comment," said Harry breezily, grabbing the last of them and a box of matches from the side.

"That means yes."

"It most certainly does not."

"It does and I'll prove it - have you ever wanked over him?"

"Definitely no comment."

"Aha, you see, it means yes."

They returned to the others just in time for Eggsy to ask where the loo was, which Gazzy enthusiastically offered to show him to. The look on James' face when it dawned on him exactly who he'd attempted to give rather limited acting advice to from his own shoddy attempt at amateur dramatics, was a picture. 

By the time they all sat down to dinner, around the lovely circular table in the corner of the dining room that Harry had always rather coveted, any last dregs of nervous tension had dissipated, and it was as though they'd known Eggsy for years. He still looked a little shy, not awkwardly so - more just surprised at the ease with which they accepted him, no frills and minimal fuss - and happy to be there, sharing in their bizarre stories and the frankly awful rendition of 'happy birthday' sang to Gazzy. They all warmed to him so beautifully while Eggsy regaled them with stories from the filming of his most recent project, so endearingly enthused about his work, face pink and smiling eyes, that Harry couldn't stop himself from reaching under the table, stroking his hand just the once, revelling in the pleased little look he got in return. 

Many plates of food and glasses of wine later, and all that remained was a plate of brownies, rich and dark, and the absolute star of Merlin's baking repertoire.

"God, but I feel old," Roxy said, licking the last of the brownie from her fingers and chasing it with another gulp of wine. 

"Mm," Merlin rumbled his agreement and rubbed his wife's shoulder affectionately, "but you can't say we haven't lived."

"There's certainly a story or two around this table," said James with a smirk, "right, Harry?"

"Oh don't you dare," said Harry. It was a miracle Eggsy hadn't been scared off already, never mind throwing in some of the more embarrassing tales from his youth. 

"Tell you what," said Merlin, brandishing the plate holding the one remaining brownie, "I will gladly give the last brownie as a prize, to the saddest case at this table."

In unison, everyone bar Eggsy turned to look pointedly at James. "Oh bugger the lot of you," he threw his hands up in defeat and leant back in his chair. "Well obviously it's me, isn't it. I work every miserable hour of the day in a job I don't understand, and everyone keeps getting promoted above me. I haven't had a proper relationship since puberty. Nobody fancies me," he said, really laying it on thick, "and if these cheeks get any chubbier nobody ever will again."

"Bullshit, I fancy you," piped up Gazzy.

"Really?" James perked up.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "Or at least I did before you got so fat."

"Mm," Merlin narrowed his eyes in thought. "Though James, if I'm not mistaken, your job still pays you rather a lot of money, unlike Gazzy here, who flogs her guts out every day for peanuts."

"That's right," Gazzy nodded emphatically. "But other than that, I've got you all beat. I'm obviously the best looking one here, and my sex life is off the charts, so..." she shrugged, a graceful roll of her shoulders, supremely unconcerned.

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that," Harry shot her a dirty look.

"And you're best friends with Gary Unwin," said Roxy with a wink.

"Well what can I say," Gazzy smiled lazily as Eggsy laughed, "he needs me."

"And you're not stuck in one of these things," said Roxy dryly, patting the arm of her chair, "in a house full of ramps, with your career destroyed beyond repair because of it." She hesitated. "And to add insult to serious injury," she glanced across at Merlin, "well, the truth is, we can't have a baby."

"Shit..." said Harry, after the moment of shocked silence. "Roxy, I'm so - "

"C'est la vie," she cut him off with a smile, a little tearful, and Merlin reached out to take her hand. "We're lucky in lots of other ways," she sniffed, composed once more. "Now surely that's worth the last brownie."

"Well, I don't know," said Merlin, a dangerous glint in his eye as he smirked at Harry. Bollocks. "Look at Harry here. Divorced. Used to be handsome, now a bit squidgy around the edges. And certain never to hear from Eggsy again once he finds out his nickname in school was - "

"Don't you fucking dare - " Harry cut in.

"Floppy," finished Merlin deliberately.

"You arse," said Harry with no real venom. "At least I get the last brownie, I suppose."

"Hold the fuck up, don't I get a go?" Everyone else sitting around the table blinked at Eggsy in disbelief.

"If you insist," Harry said, drawing his hand back from the plate. "But I'll have you know that this is an incredibly good brownie, and I am prepared fight you for it."

"Alright then," said Eggsy, visibly squaring his shoulders where he sat. "Every time I pick up a cake or a beer or a fucking McDonalds, some wanker appears from nowhere and smacks it out of my hand," he nodded to the remaining brownie with a smile, "which is why I really wanna win that shit." He swallowed, smile wavering as he prepared to say something more serious. "My - my dad died when I was little, and my mum went out with a long line of total arseholes, one of 'em used to hit her. And me. I've been out with my share of twats and all; blokes and birds who only ever want in my pants or in my wallet, in the end, even though every time I think this new one might be different. And every time one of 'em does throw me over, the media chucks it about like it's entertainment. And one day soon, they'll all realise that I can't act, I'm just some bloke who was in the right place at the right time and got lucky... they'll all see right through me, and I'll be back to being a fucking nobody."

Silence, as Eggsy's eyes flicked nervously around the table, wondering if he'd said too much no doubt, or what they must be thinking of him. Harry, of course, knew his friends well enough to know better.

"Nope," Merlin said, holding the plate to Harry, "nice try gorgeous, but you're not fooling anyone."

"Pathetic attempt to hog the brownie," Harry said, picking it up as they others laughed amongst themselves. He gave half of it - the bigger half - to Eggsy anyway.

~

"Why's she in a wheelchair?" said Eggsy later, as they walked back through the leafy residential streets. He'd said things would get too complicated if he brought Harry back to his hotel room, and rightly so, but neither was quite willing to call it a night just yet.

"Roxy used to work for the police, was rather good at it too. But accidents happen," he said, reluctant to expand anymore, both for the sake of his friend's privacy, and because it stirred memories of a time all of them would rather not dwell on.

"And the baby thing," Eggsy continued, hands jammed into his pockets, "is it because of the accident, or...?"

"I don't think they'd ever tried before, as luck would have it."

"Right."

"Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing, I just - " he hesitated, flashing Harry an awkward smile. "I told you I've got a little sister, yeah?"

"You did," said Harry, recalling the fondness on Eggsy's face when he'd mentioned it.

"Well, it's just I love that little girl so much yeah, and she ain't even mine," he said. "I can't explain it properly, but... It's just sad, is all," he shrugged, "to know how much they might want a family, and they can't have one."

Harry was a little astounded by the sincerity of his admission, how genuinely sorry he seemed for Roxy and Merlin, considering he'd met them mere hours ago. "They'd be touched, I'm sure."

Eggsy smiled softly at him as they drew up alongside one of the private gardens dotted about the streets, green havens fenced in with smug iron railings. "I always think they're rather odd," Harry said, when he caught Eggsy peering in through the hedge, "a bizarre sort of look but don't touch little oasis between the houses."

"Let's go in," Eggsy said decisively, reaching out to test the lock on the gate.

"We can't," said Harry, suddenly feeling every one of his fifty years, "they're only for the residents. And locked besides."

Eggsy snorted as he found a foothold and easily swung himself up before scaling the fence. "I used to be a delinquent, remember," he said as he dropped lightly down to the other side, "or don't you read Hello! magazine?"

"No, actually," said Harry as he eyed up the iron railings, trying to come up with a way to get over with his dignity still in tact. He very much doubted there was one, but fucked if he was going to wait alone on this side of the fence while Eggsy was on the other. He eventually managed to haul himself only slightly inelegantly over into the garden, and made his way along the path to where Eggsy was standing quietly, looking about the peaceful blue and green shadows of the dark trees and neatly sloping grass.

"Now what on earth," said Harry as he drew up behind him, out of breath and trying to hide it, "could be in this garden to make that ordeal worthwhile?"

He'd meant it rhetorically, but Eggsy turned to face him, gripping the front of his jacket hard and tugging him close to press their lips together. The first time Eggsy had kissed him in the hallway had been tentative but oddly desperate, as though Eggsy were reaching out for something to hold on to and unsure if Harry would reach out for him in return. But this kiss was different, sweet in a more familiar way, as if it weren't their second kiss but their hundred and second. It was soft and sweet, despite Eggsy's hands still being curled tight into his jacket, and perfect for the velvety stillness of the lush green night around them. He tasted like chocolate and merlot, and Harry dimly wondered if there would ever be a time he would kiss Eggsy when he wouldn't taste like a dessert. Not that it was an problem, merely an observation. 

"Come on," said Eggsy quietly when they broke apart, twining his cold fingers through Harry's warm, leading him gently to walk together under the trees, feet near silent on the damp grass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ronan Keating plays softly in the background*


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A fair bit of general arseholery towards poor Eggsy this chapter, also where the Eggsy/Charlie comes into play. And sort of infidelity... not sure I'd count it as such, but I know it might bother some people, so fair warning.

Harry didn't think he'd ever looked forward to a date so much in his life. Typically, it had gotten off to a bit of a rocky start - he couldn't find his glasses anywhere, and spent half an hour loudly complaining about it while he dug behind sofa cushions, Valentine offering no assisstance other than to say it really wasn't that big of a problem, in the grand scheme of things, not compared to cancer and world famine. Harry was of course late, and ended up wearing an old pair of perscription goggles from a diving holiday, which Eggsy had low key taken the piss out of all the entire way through their trip to the cinema. 

Oddly enough, the cinema had been Eggsy'd decision, leaving the choice of restaurant to Harry. Eggsy had left it up to him, saying he had no fucking idea where was good to eat, he usually just went where he was told. He looked disarmingly lovely, face pink from the mild heat of the Thai dish he'd ordered, and with his enthusiastic re-telling of scrapes he'd gotten into with his childhood friends. It was both otherwordly and pedestrian all at once, to have the seemingly unattainable on-screen golden boy sharing with Harry the amount of times he'd gotten nicked for shoplifting in the past. Some time during the meal, Eggsy had sneaked his leg across to tangle with Harry's under the table. It was nothing short of perfect, until the party sitting a few tables away began to talk rather loudly about actors and actresses that tickled their fancy.

"Nah, I don't think much of her," one man was saying, "she's too cold y'know? Unattainable."

"I find I rather like that in a girl," said one lady dryly, to snorts of disbelief from the others.

"You know who I'm into at the moment," said another, giggling madly, "that Gary Unwin."

Eggsy paused, spoonful of the caramel apple dessert he'd ordered halfway to his mouth, suddenly on alert at the menton of his name.

"Ooo yes," another lady added, "he's got such a sweet face. And that little twinkle in his eye..." she sighed, and Eggsy looked marginally more relaxed. "He's positively scrumptious."

"And he's still got that little bit of rough about him," the original lady added, still tittering, "I do like that."

"Good heavens Tamara, you are an awful tart."

"I see what you mean about Unwin," said one of the men, thoughtfully, "I can honestly say I wouldn't mind a go on that."

Eggsy's smile stuttered, knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table, and Harry felt rather like he wanted to punch something.

"The thing with him is," another added, voice thick, "it's obvious that he is absolutely gagging for it, y'know? At the end of the day, he's the sort of bloke you could just flip over, and start again."

"Oh Jerry, you are naughty." 

"Did you ever hear those rumours that he was in porn before they let him do proper films?"

"No! Really?"

It was the look on Eggsy's face that drove Harry to his feet. That hurt little frown, eyes wide and embarrassed as he looked down at the table cloth as though it was him that'd done something wrong, was all it took to get Harry to leap up from the table, with some odd, chivalrous notion about defending Eggsy's honour. 

"Right. That's it, I'm sorry."

"No, Harry," Eggsy spluttered as Harry strode off towards their table, "leave it, please!"

"You shouldn't have to hear it." Harry was well up on his high horse already, and charging straight towards that table of ill-mannered idiots who didnt know a thing about respect.

"Excuse me," he said, the smile sharp on his face, "but I couldn't help overhearing what - who - you were dicussing just a moment ago. I think it's rather rude of you to talk about somebody you've never even met like that, don't you agree?

The occupants of the table blinked at him in disbelief before breaking into tittering laughter. "Sod off," said the man who'd spoken the worst of him, "who are you, his dad?"

"You do have truly abysmal manners," Harry's smile grew even tighter, and he was one more insult to Eggsy away from rolling up his sleeves and inviting the man outside so they could solve this little dispute with their fists, "would you like me to teach you some better ones?"

"Look here grandad - " The man was halfway to his feet when Eggsy suddenly appeared at Harry's elbow.

"Evenin'" he said, charming smile turned towards the awful human beings sitting around the table, slack-jawed and blotchy red with embarrassment at his unexpected presence.

"Oh bloody hell," one of the women gasped into her wine.

"Look, we didn't mean - " one of the men started, but Eggsy swiftly cut him off.

"Nah, don't worry mate, I'm sure it was only a bit of banter yeah?" he said, charming smile edged with a sharp danger to rival Harry's. "I'm sure you didn't mean nothin' by it, I'm sure you were just having a laugh, and I'm sure you've got a dick the size of a peanut. Enjoy your dinner." He tipped them a wink and sauntered off, leaving Harry to follow in awed silence. 

"Aw fuck me, I shouldn't have done that," Eggsy groaned when they were outside, making the short walk to his hotel.

"Yes you should," said Harry firmly, "they had absolutely no right to speak about you like that."

"My publicist's going to be fucking pissed when she hears about it," he said. And then, "you were really gunna tear that bloke a new one for me, weren't you?" said with the sort of reverence that suggested Harry had just done something incredibly thoughtful.

"I don't know if I really would have," Harry said, honestly, though the hard look Eggsy was giving him made him want to claim otherwise, "but it was ever so tempting, that I'll admit."

"Hm," Eggsy took hold of Harry's shoulder, stopping him short just around the corner from the bright entrance to the hotel. "Not gunna lie," he said, drawing him close and nosing at Harry's neck, breath warm on his throat, "that was fuckin' hot Harry."

"Oh?" Harry gulped when he regained the use of his voice, fingertips coming up to run through the fine hair at the base of Eggsy's neck without making the concious decision to do so. "Have something of a danger kink, do we?"

"Mm," Eggsy practically purred, God save him, kissing his way along Harry's jaw to press a damp kiss to the edge of his mouth, "not exactly. But the thought of you kicking the shit out of those twats just for me..."

He left the end of the sentence hanging in favour of snogging the living daylights out of Harry mere feet from the very well-lit and bustling lobby of the hotel, his wicked tongue still sweet from the caramel of his pudding. And yes, it seemed every kiss they shared was destined to be dessert-flavoured. Harry began to sink into the kiss in return, sucking Eggsy's full lower lip between his teeth, hands firm on his hip and the small of his back, then lower still, and - 

"Do you wanna come up?" Eggsy broke away, looked up at Harry with the sort of fragile determination as though he was worried Harry would turn him down.

"I - " Harry's voice was rasping, he cleared his throat. "I thought you said it was too complicated."

"Yeah," Eggsy said, eyes still locked with Harry's. "You wanna come up?"

~

There followed the most anxious ten minutes of Harry's life as he paced up and down a small stretch of pavement outside the hotel, allowing enough time between his and Eggsy's entrances so it wouldn't seem as though they were going in together. By the time he thought bugger it and went inside, it took everything he had not to run up the stairs to the room number Eggsy had given him, only the knowledge of how daft he'd look keeping him in check. He knocked on the door, wiping damp palms on his trouser leg, straightening his tie. 

"Hi," Eggsy said when he opened the door, and before he could get another word in, Harry pulled him into a kiss, keen to pick up exactly where they'd left off outside. 

"Can I just say," Harry said when he came up for air, "that to be able to do that is the most tremendous thrill." What Eggsy said next was more or less the last thing Harry wanted or expected to hear.

"You have to go."

"I have to - what?" Harry said, confused, Eggsy still clinging to his shoulders.

"My fucking boyfriend is here," Eggsy hissed, and Harry was suddenly aware of the sound of someone rumaging around in the suite's bathroom.

"Your what?" Harry said, finally gathering enough sense to let go of Eggsy and take a step back.

"You heard," Eggsy whispered desperately, "I thought we were long over, but apparently he's got other ideas. He's meant to be filming in the US, I had no idea he was going to fly over - " Eggsy's imploring was cut short as a man stalked out of the bathroom, frowning at the creases in the dinner jacket he was holding.

And fuck Harry's life, it was Charlie sodding Hesketh, three time BAFTA nominee and favourite to be the next Bond. Harry wanted nothing more than to break his perfect nose. 

"Darling, I don't suppose I could hang this up in - hello," he stopped short when he noticed Harry standing somewhat awkwardly in the doorway, "who's this?"

"Room service," said Harry without missing a beat, noticing Eggsy slump ever so slightly in relief at his quick thinking, and hoping to God Hesketh didn't comment on his lack of uniform.

"We didn't order anything," Charlie said haughtily, looking down his nose at him in suspicion.

"No sir," Harry said, almost choking on the effort to remain polite, "I was on my way home for the night, and thought I'd make one final call to ensure there was nothing more I could do for you."

"Oh," Hesketh's face cleared immediately. "In that case, you wouldn't mind clearing away some of this, would you?" he gestured to the scattering of dirty dishes and tea things on the side table.

Harry didn't trust himself to reply, instead nodded stiffly, and moved to collect the china despite Eggsy's protesting. "Fuck, no it's alright, you don't have to," he said, before turning to Charlie in desperation, "I don't think that's really his job, y'know?"

"Oh, don't fuss darling, I'm sure he doesn't mind," Hesketh said, producing a crisp fifty pound note out of nowhere and tucking into Harry's shirt pocket, the smarmy little shit. "You don't mind, do you?"

If Harry had thought he wanted to punch than man in the restaurant in the face, it was nothing to how badly he wanted to lay into the man standing before him now, smiling patronisingly at him as though Harry were no better than a stray dog who'd wandered across his path by accident. Once more he declined to answer, just tilted his head in acknowledgement before continuing to pick up the man's dirty fucking dishes.  
As he was doing so, he was keenly aware of the couple behind him, the unmistakable sound of kissing as Charlie smugly asked Eggsy if he'd missed him, the latter unable to do anything but answer in the affirmative, and return the kiss. It was a wonder Harry didn't break the china. After a seemingly endless snog and slew of muttered endearments, Charlie eventually released Eggsy, and sauntered back off to the other room.

"I'm so fucking sorry Harry," said Eggsy the moment he was out of earshot. "I - fuck, I don't know what to say." The boy looked devastated, eyes still wide from panic, kiss-swollen mouth open as he struggled to find the words.

"I think that 'goodbye' is traditional, in most cases," said Harry, leaving no room for argument as he adjusted the dishes in his arms and headed for the door, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back at the man he was walking away from.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry was most certainly not moping. Alright, perhaps he was a little, but still, it was nobody's business but his own. And if he'd been to see Eggsy's latest film, about the gangsters of sixties London in which he had a comparatively minor role, twice in the last three days, well... that was nobody else's business either. He hadn't yet decided whether seeing his face larger than life on the enormous cinema screen made him feel better or worse; to know what those lips felt like under his own, to have run his finger over that freckle on his neck. Valentine's woeful attempts to get him to open up about it weren't particularly helpful, no matter how good his intentions, so he ended up spending a fair bit of time alone. Not sulking. 

A week or so after their date that had ended disastrously, Merlin and Roxy managed to coax him out of the house and over to their place for dinner. But even sitting at that charming round dining table of theirs knocking back shiraz until they couldn't see straight didn't help an awful lot, since all it did was remind him of the evening he'd spent sitting next to Eggsy, wondering how on earth he'd been so lucky as to have somehow ended up with the man in his life, if only for a fleeting moment, while they fought over the last brownie. Turned out the moment was far more fleeting that he'd hoped for. 

"How the bloody fuck didn't you know he's got a boyfriend?" Merlin said for the fifth time as he poured Harry another glass, dirty dishes and the remains of their lasagne still spread across the table. "Even I knew that. Do you actually live under a bloody rock Harry, honestly."

"I can't fucking believe it," Harry sighed and pulled the glass away before Merlin could overfill it. Again. "My whole life ruined because I don't read Hello! magazine."

Apparently his friends took Harry's sulking as a sign that he needed to forget about Eggsy via a seemingly endless line of excruciating blind dates. First there was Terry, who was rather loud though his heart was undeniably in the right place, and apparently kissed like a nympho on death row. Or so Merlin claimed, before Roxy shot him a look. Terry was swiftly followed by Kenneth the fruitarian. Don't even fucking ask. And then there was Matthew. Matthew who was actually really lovely, sweet and funny and perfectly at ease with himself, and exactly the type that Harry might have ended up settling down with. Too bad he never had a chance - Harry was too hung up on Eggsy to give anyone else the shot they deserved. 

It was after he'd shown Matthew out of Merlin and Roxy's house - the man had told Harry it had been a pleasure to meet him, and kissed him on the cheek - that he thought his friends finally realised it was going to take more than a few dates and a lot of wine to heave him out of the hole he'd fallen into in regards to Gary Unwin. 

"Want to stay the night?" Roxy offered as Harry traipsed back into their living room.

"Why not," Harry sighed and stretched, feel terrifically old. "All that awaits me at home is a grown man crying over 'cats being scared by cucumbers' videos on YouTube."

Which was how he ended up throwing a blanket over their sofa, where he was sure to spend a rather dismal night staring at the ceiling while the ache in his back intensified. But he just couldn't bring himself to stumble home to his cold and empty bed. He watched as Merlin bent to scoop Roxy out of her chair, forgoing the stairlift in favour of carrying her up to their bed himself, her arms looped about his neck as they whispered to each other. And although he knew it was only a flippant remark she'd made so as to not sound too self-pitying, Roxy had been right when she'd said the two of them were lucky, in their own way. 

The next morning, Harry was still feeling rather downcast and dramatic, so refused Merlin's offer of breakfast in favour of walking the long way to the shop through the blustery streets. His best friend simply called him an idiot and let him get on with it. Though not before forcing a tub of last night's leftovers into his hands, so that in a couple of hours time when Harry was feeling less melodramatic and more hungry, he wouldn't go without. Bless Merlin. 

Harry wasn't sure if he was thankful for the slow day at the shop or not. On the plus side, he didn't have to deal with people, but that also meant there was nothing to distract him, to pass the long hours until closing time. As a result, he shut up a little early, feeling drowsy and not all there as he walked home, which may well have been why he didn't notice the headlines plastered all over every newsagents' stand he passed by. 

Which meant that when Eggsy appeared at his front door less than an hour later, looking sheepish and thoroughly sorry for himself, Harry had absolutely no idea what had prompted his sudden return.

"Eggsy," manners utterly forgotten in the surprise at finding Eggsy standing on his doorstep, Harry was rather ashamed to say he simply stood there staring at him, neglecting to say anything more, and it fell to Eggsy to ask, rather shyly - 

"Can I come in?"

"Shit," Harry fumbled with the door as he stepped aside in his haste to let him in, "of course. Sorry."

Eggsy strode through into the kitchen, back deliberately straight in a way that looked like he was struggling to hold himself together, Harry following dumbly and wondering if this was just some oddly vivid extension of his foggy daydreaming at work.

"I - " Eventually Eggsy turned to look at him, face pink and eyes damp, still unsure. "I didn't know where else to go."

At Harry's blank expression, Eggsy must have realised that he had absolutely no idea what had upset him so. He caught Harry up as quickly as possibly, eyes fixed on the floor in embarrassment and face getting pinker with every word. It transpired that in his younger days, before he'd made it big, Eggsy had had some pictures taken. Mostly nude and rather provocative pictures, that is, to pay a few bills, get his face out there in any context he could. 

"I chickened out, in the end," he said, smiling sadly. "Didn't let them print them. Not that it fucking matters much now, they've been dug up and leaked to every corner of the sodding planet." He paced the length of Harry's kitchen, scrubbing at his face with his hands. Harry resisted the urge to take those hands in is own, kiss his way across every knuckle until Eggsy stopped crying. "It's all over the papers, Harry," he mumbled into his hands. "I'm fucked."

"It's dreadful Eggsy," said Harry, because what the fuck else could he say? It seemed the appearing in the papers three times rule had been tossed magnificently out the window in any case, though he supposed, considering Eggsy's career, it was already a little too late for that. "Surely it isn't as bad as all that?"

Eggsy laughed unhappily. "You obviously haven't seen 'em then."

"I haven't, no."

"Well, brace yourself, because it gets fuckin' worse."

"My dear boy," Harry caved, letting the tiniest hint of his fondness slip through, though he sincerely doubted Eggsy would welcome it at that moment, "what on earth could - "

"Some twat had his phone out and all, while they was taking the pictures," Eggsy interrupted, wrenching at his hair, "filming it all. It looks like the start of some shitty Pornhub video, _Twink Gets Gangbanged By Filmcrew,_ fucking hell."

"Eggsy, I'm sure it can't be - "

"Fuck, _my mum_ had to see that, Harry," Eggsy spat through his angry tears. "My mum, and millions of other people who had no fucking right to - " he gulped and shook his head. "That shite was never meant to be seen."

"Eggsy," Harry said, finally feeling either brave or stupid enough to touch him, reaching out to lay a hand on his shoulder. Eggsy blinked at him, and Harry had to fight every fragment of himself that wanted desperately to pull him close, kiss his tears away. "Frankly, it's a fucking awful situation, and I'm afraid there's very little I can do about it, other than to offer you a cup of tea and a place to stay until it all blows over. If that's what you want, that is," he added hastily, worried it sounded as though he were taking advantage. 

Eggsy smiled, watery but genuine. "I'm not too fussed about the tea, but I would really fucking love a shower right about now."

So Harry sent him upstairs for a shower and to calm down - he knew where the bathroom was, obviously - and wondered if it would be considered bad taste to take a look at the pictures himself. Yes Harry, it fucking would. He didn't much fancy tea either, but he went and made some anyway, to take his traitorous mind off of the fact that there was a wet, naked Eggsy a few rooms away.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've just noticed how irregular my chapter lengths are, wow. Anyway, this one's a fair bit longer than the last, and one of my faves ;)

Twenty minutes later, Eggsy came back down to the kitchen looking a great deal more put together. His eyes were still pink though, every movement he made careful and deliberate, and if Harry didn't know better he'd guess it was the fact that he was dressed in a t-shirt and joggers belonging to Harry that had gotten him suddenly shy and self-concious. He kept fiddling with the hems. That thought was far too much for him to deal with rationally, so he simply put the kettle on again and went on a hunt for some biscuits. 

They were sitting at the kitchen table after multiple cups of tea and most of a packet of chocolate biscuits, having exhausted most small talk topics. Eggsy had chattered away about his little sister and and his mum, whipped out his phone to proudly show Harry picture after picture of the two of them. It was delightlyfully endearing how he obviously doted on the pair of them, though his face flickered in distress when he realised he wouldn't be able to face seeing them all for a little while, what with the papers and all. Almost without thinking about it, Harry offered up a few silly little anecdotes about his own family, in an attempt to smooth away the crease of a frown, the downwards turn of his mouth. A while later and Eggsy had relaxed again, finally looked ready to say something important, get what was bothering him off his chest, when Valentine waltzed in, because of course he fucking did. Thankfully, Valentine wasn't the type to dwell on such trifling matters as to why there might be Hollywood royalty in his kitchen, and went straight for the real questions.

"Hey, man!" Valentine said when he noticed him there, talking as though he was simply a friend he hadn't seen in a while, rather than one of the highest grossing actors on the planet. "Fuck, I love your movies."

"Err thanks," said Eggsy with a surprised smile. 

"Could you do me a favour though?" he continued, picking absently through the MacDonald's bag he'd brought in with him. 

"...Yeah, why not," Eggsy shrugged as Harry looked on half in amusement, half resigned horror. "How can I help?"

"Could you maybe mention the animal welfare crisis in your next interview? It's just something that I think we can all agree is pretty fucking important and just ain't getting anywhere fast, you know?" He paused, dunked a chip in his ketchup. "The more big names like you we can get on board, the better."

"I - " Eggsy blinked in bemusement, "I can definitely give it a go."

"That's great, man," Valentine grinned and slapped him on the shoulder, "we all gotta do what we can." He grabbed the remainder of his burger before tossing the paper bag in the bin and heading towards the living room. "And sorry about that photo thing, by the way. That sucks ass." He was gone before Eggsy could reply, leaving mild awkwardness and the smell of fried food in his wake.

"I do apologise," Harry nodded in the direction Valentine had gone.

"Nah, he seems like fun," Eggsy said, before his smile ebbed and he looked more serious, eyes flicking down to the tabletop. "And I err," he swallowed, ran his fingernail along a groove in the wood, "I think it's me who owes you an apology, actually."

"Oh?"

"Charlie."

"Ah," in all the fuss of the day, the unexpected joy of seeing Eggsy again, Harry had quite forgotten about their disasterous parting of ways, "I see."

"I really thought we was finished with, you know?" Eggsy said. "I promise you that. Weeks before I even met you. He was making noise about me being away too much," he rolled his eyes, "which was taking the fuckin' piss, he was away just as often as I was, filming and shit. And then he kept dropping hints about this make up girl and how fit she was..." he trailed off with a frown, the hint of a pout. "I lost it a bit, told him I couldn't be arsed with it anymore and he could fuck who he wanted. I hadn't even spoken to the bloke for almost two months before he rocked up at the hotel, the selfish prick." Eggsy's eyes were wide with apprehension while he worried over his next words, and Harry wondered if it would be unwelcome if he were to reach over and take his hand. "I'm sorry he was such a twat to you."

"That wasn't your fault, Eggsy." Harry made a note to dispose of any DVDs in Valentine's collection starring Charlie ruddy Hesketh. 

"Anyway," he shook his head, "he made it pretty clear we ain't speaking anymore after this thing with the papers. Worried he'll be tainted by association or some shit, the wanker."

"He sounds delightful," Harry said.

Eggsy snorted. "Well, you've met him." He sobered, looked up at Harry hopefully. "I'm sorry I ruined our date. If he hadn't shown up, I - "

"There's no need to apologise Eggsy," Harry said, the time he'd spent not-moping seemed suddenly juvenile and self-indulgent, knowing that Eggsy had most likely felt just as awful as he had. "As you say, you weren't to know."

"Thank you," Eggsy said quietly, and the world seemed like a marginally better place.

The remainder of that afternoon was rather lovely. Blissful, was perhaps the word Harry would have used if he was feeling particularly fanciful. Tentative friends once again, Eggsy had produced a script for his next film from the sports bag he'd brought with him, and cajoled Harry into going through his lines with him. Not that it had taken much to sway Harry, in all honesty, especially when Eggsy said he needed something to take his mind off the mess that was his public life right now. Turned out it was a sort of biopic (he seemed to do a lot of those) based on the short career of ski-jumper Eddie the Eagle. Harry had been somewhat sceptical as Eggsy outlined the plot, but he delivered the lines with such conviction that Harry was won over soon enough. It wasn't Jane Austen exactly, but it was good fun, and would no doubt win a place on Valentine's shelf of feel-good movies.  
When afternoon began to fade into evening, Harry made them dinner. Only a simple pasta dish from his rather limited repetoire, but apparently nice enough that Eggsy made little appreciative noises between forkfuls, which was so charming Harry couldn't stop himself smiling, and had to leave the table for a moment under the pretence of finding more wine until he could get a fucking grip.

"Why butterflies?" Eggsy said when he returned, only slightly more composed and holding another bottle of red. 

"I'm sorry?" Harry was a little too busy watching Eggsy wipe a smear of sauce from his lip to fully comprehend the question.

"In the bathroom," he said. "I know about your fucking weird dog," he smiled, "but you never explained the butterflies."

"Oh," Harry sat, poured them each another glass. "Well, it started because my older brother collected stamps, and I was ever determined to one-up him, so..." 

"Really?" Eggsy grinned like it was the most wild thing he'd ever heard, rather than just one thing on the long list of a middle-aged man's eccentricites. "You collect dead bugs because you wanted to be more interesting than your brother?"

"Essentially, yes."

"You're mental," Eggsy said cheerfully, and knocked back a considerable amount of the wine.

"Thank you," Harry said dryly, sipped from his own glass to occupy his hands. "That's how it started, anyway. I quite enjoy it now, as it happens. It's only a rather modest collection," perhaps thirty or so frames, they weren't the easiest things to accumulate, "but I do rather treasure them. It's a touch morbid perhaps, but I like the thought of something so delicate, fleeting, in most cases gone within the blink of eye, able to be enjoyed years longer than it might have been otherwise."

"Nice speech, but it's still fucking weird."

Harry shrugged. "We all have our quirks." 

Later on, the two of them were sprawled out in Harry's living room, on separate sofas, regrettably, the noise of the city shut out behind some ugly curtains Harry had hung just to aggrivate Merlin. Eggsy was steadily making his way through a tub of strawberry ice cream Harry had bought weeks ago on a whim and never eaten, as a film played quietly in the background. _My Fair Lady,_ of all things. The room was dark but for the flickering of the screen, making Eggsy's face alternate between shadow and sharp relief, and Harry realised he was spending more time watching him than the film.

"You have big feet," Eggsy said, appropos of nothing, eyeing where they rested on the sofa.

"Yes," said Harry, for lack of anything better. "Always have."

"You know what they say about men with big feet," Eggsy raised an eyebrow suggestively as he licked the ice cream spoon. "Big feet, large... shoes."

Harry snorted and shook his head, a moment that might have felt awkward even a few hours ago now anything but. "Well, you're not wrong."

"How do you sit like that?" Eggsy said, twisting about on the sofa to get a better look at him, and Harry fought the urge to rearrange himself, aware of Eggsy's eyes on him.

"Like what?"

"Like you're..." he waved his hand about, searching for the right word, "I dunno, the king or some shit."

"I'm afraid I've still no idea what you're talking about."

"You're lying about on the sofa, yeah? Any normal bloke like me would be all legs and elbows and generally looking like a bit of a lazy mess, right? But you," he ran his eye over Harry again, and it was a bloody struggle to remain still under the scrutiny, not to straighten his shoulders or smooth down his shirt, "you still look so fucking composed. Like somebody's draped you there for a photoshoot or somethin'. How you look so classy without even trying I've no fucking idea Harry, but you'll have to teach me."

"What can I say, Eggsy," Harry said, feeling rather pleased with Eggsy's asessment of him, "I'm every inch the gentleman." He looked away before he could see Eggsy's reaction.

~

Later still, and Harry was still lying on the sofa. He'd insisted upon Eggsy taking his bed, it was only polite, and it wasn't as though he'd be able to get to sleep anyway, so it really didn't matter where he lay down and pretended. His back would no doubt feel awful come morning, but there was little to be done. Despite the still darkness and the long day, as well as the lingering tiredness from having slept on Merlin's sofa the night before, sleep just wouldn't come when he knew who was in his own bed at that very moment. Harry had lent Eggsy things to sleep in of course, another t-shirt and a set of pyjamas he'd once washed on the wrong setting, and were now too short in the leg for him. But, his ever traitorous mind pulled from nowhere, what if that's not how he slept at home? What if he slept nude, his lovely body stretched out across the sheets, white cotton sliding down over curves of smooth skin, needy and sleep warm, arm outstretched to pull Harry in with him, and - 

"Hey, Harry?"

"Fucking hell," Harry hissed and sat bolt upright when Valentine sheepishly edged around the corner into the living room, only half visible in the dim grey of night. Harry hadn't even known he was still in the house. Bugger.

"Sorry man," Valentine whispered, sounding anything but.

"What do you want?" Harry asked, resigned, because his life was bloody ridiculous and it was easier to just go with it. 

"I got a favour to ask you," he fiddled with the tie of his violently lime green dressing gown, and Harry silently thanked God it was dark enough that his eyes couldn't be assulted by it.

"Right. And you thought now would be a good time to ask it."

"It was bugging me man, I couldn't sleep," Valentine insisted, and that at least was a sentiment Harry could empathise with.

"Right," Harry repeated, rubbed his eyes and prepared for the worst. "What can I help you with?" He braced himself for something monumentally ridiculous, and wasn't disappointed.

"Do you think you could help me get Mr Unwin on board with the climate change gig? He didn't look all that convinced when I asked him about animal welfare earlier."

Harry squinted up at him in disbelief. "What on earth makes you think I'll be able to do that?"

"I just thought, y'know," Valentine shrugged, "since you two are doing the do, he might listen to what you got to say."

Just when Harry thought it couldn't any more ridiculous. "Eggsy and I are not sleeping together, Valentine." Regrettably.

"Oh. You sure about that? The way he was looking at you all starry eyed and shit - "

"If I were sleeping with him," Harry interrupted firmly, "then why the bloody fuck would I be sleeping on the sofa instead of in the bed with him, listening to you chat utter bollocks at two in the morning?"

Valentine hesitated. "...Fair point. Just think about it, yeah?"

"Yes, fine," Harry waved him away, one more stupid comment away from flinging a scatter cushion at him, "now just go to bed."

"Yeah, yeah," Valentine nodded and flashed him a smile. "'Night."

He heard Valentine shuffle off back up the stairs, and was just starting to drift back to sleep when he heard the bugger creep into the living room again. Fucking honestly. All he wanted to do was get some sleep, for fuck's sake, and his patience was wearing thin with tiredness.

"Sod off," he enunciated clearly, just in case Valentine was having a hard time getting it through his head.

"Fine then I'll go, Jesus." 

Shit. Harry jolted upright, his back protesting a little, because it wasn't his nutter of a flatmate, but Eggsy, just disappearing around the doorframe. "No, wait," he stage whispered into the gloom.

"What?" Eggsy stepped back into the living room, frowning, a pale slice of light from the flat across the road falling over his face, making a deep hollow under his eye.

"Sorry," Harry eased himself to sit up properly, hastily running a hand through his no doubt rebellious hair. "I thought you were Valentine. I'm thrilled that you're not."

"Oh," the part of his face Harry could see fluttered from irritation to understanding, before setting in determination.

"What can I do for you?" said Harry, hoping he sounded merely attentive rather than leering.

"I dunno," Eggsy said as he padded slowly across the room towards the sofa, "a glass of water. Another blanket. The WiFi password." He came to a stop, face in shadow as he looked down at Harry. "There's a lot of reasons I could pretend I came down here. But I reckon you know why." Leaving no room for misinterpretation, he swung his leg over and gently settled so he was sitting in Harry's lap, a warm weight, the strange smell of Harry's bath products and washing powder on another person. 

"Eggsy," he said, though in truth he had no idea what he was planning to say next. His hands drifted up to the thick muscle of Eggsy's thighs to hold him there, heavy and warm under his palms, without him even making the decision.

"Shh," Eggsy hushed him, nudged forward to gently press his lips to Harry's, soft and sweet, like the first time they'd kissed in Harry's hallway. And Harry almost laughed then, because Eggsy tasted ever so faintly of the strawberry ice cream he'd been steadily demolishing earlier, and honestly, was he somehow doing this on purpose? But then Eggsy opened his mouth to him, and it wasn't quite so funny.  
It was muted and sleepy, like watching television with your fingers in your ears - the world silent but for your own breaths which come somehow louder than ever - and every movement all the more vivid for lack of sound. Eggsy's touches were careful and searching, fingers feeling in the dark for the hems of Harry's clothes, tugging tentatively. Harry returned every touch Eggsy gave him as reverantly as he could; Eggsy deserved nothing less. The old t-shirt he'd given Eggsy to wear was a little tight across his broad chest, so close-fitting Harry could feel his nipples easily as he ran his hand gently over the age-soft fabric. 

"Shit," Eggsy jerked as Harry's nail caught, huffing a laugh against his lips.

"Sorry."

"Nah, it's good," Eggsy said quietly, reeled him in for another kiss.

Harry wished he could be somehow removed from he situation, so he could see Eggsy properly, catalogue every minute movement the boy's body made against his own. But there was something wonderfully intimate about this too, mapping each other in the muzzy grey darkness. Eggsy was warm against him, wonderfully warm, even through their night things. Harry was always running cold, and the heat of the pads of Eggsy's fingers on his jaw, his hip, were a comfort and a tease all at once on his cool skin. 

Eggsy laughed again, that soft puff of breath, when Harry ran his hands up his side, pulling the t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor before reaching up to kiss him again, because those few moments they'd had to break apart had already left him feeling bereft. He laid a hand firmly over the smooth heat of Eggsy's back, tipped him back ever so slightly so he could do what he'd wanted to do for weeks, and kiss the little freckle on his neck. When he ducked his head lower to mouth at Eggsy's tightened nipples, it had the boy gasping and rolling his hips, hand coming up to clench hard in Harry's hair. The unexpected sharpness of his reaction did Harry in, and suddenly the sleepy pace they'd set so far wasn't enough. He slid his hand down to touch Eggsy through the borrowed joggers, and in doing so realised he wasn't wearing anything underneath. 

"Bloody hell," his voice sounded wrecked even to his own ears. 

"Oh yeah, that," Eggsy said off-handedly, as though it'd slipped his mind. 

"We should go upstairs," Harry said roughly, nipping at Eggsy's neck while his fingers still ran lightly over the front of the joggers, splayed across his thigh, "if we're going to do this properly." Honestly, he was thinking partly of the comfort of his bed, but mostly of the lube he kept in his bedside table. He very much intended to do this properly, who knew if it would happen again, after all. 

"Nah, no need," Eggsy said.

"I rather disagree," Harry said, his hand slipping back to palm over Eggsy's backside, implication clear.

"I had a dig through your drawers before I came downstairs," Eggsy said, reaching into the pocket of the joggers. "Just in case." He drew out the plastic bottle and a condom, and Harry wasn't sure whether he should laugh or praise his forward-thinking.

"You presumptious little so-and-so," he said, keeping his eyes on Eggsy's face in the gloom as he eased the joggers down over his arse, watching the flicker of sensation as cool air met Eggsy's cock. "Whatever shall I do with you?"

"Fuck, Harry, just - " Eggsy didn't say anything more, focused his attention on stripping Harry until they were both bare, and kissing languidly against the arm of the sofa. 

While their touches remained largely deliberate and unhurried as Harry opened him up, the remainder of the foreplay was rather minimal. They were both feeling wrung out and stretched thin after wanting it for weeks, and it was clear, despite how much Harry wished to savour it, that it was never going to be a drawn out affair. Leastways not when Eggsy slowly eased himself down to lie on his back, and deliberately hooked his legs around Harry's middle, pulling him closer and tilting his hips up invitingly.  
By the time Harry was finally inside him, his body felt slow and the air thick, almost drowsy with how utterly overcome he was to have Eggsy underneath him, around him, gasping open-mouthed at his touches. The strange headiness was banished when Eggsy dug his fingernails in to Harry's back and swore like a sailor, though low enough that the neighbours hopefully remained undisturbed. Eggsy's hips jerked abortively as he came, cock bobbing as it emptied over his belly and dribbled over his skin, clenching hard around Harry as he gasped out his name. Harry kissed his throat, the thready thrum of Eggsy's pulse, until he felt the end rushing towards him and he sought Eggsy's mouth again, loosely kissing as he rolled his hips, shuddering through his release.


	7. Chapter 7

By the time morning came, they were in Harry's bed. He'd woken from a blissful doze some time after their tryst, the two of them sticky and wrapped tight around each other under the blanket on the sofa. When his sleep and sex addled brain had caught up with proceedings, he'd insisted they go back upstairs to sleep. Firstly because although Valentine would probably not give a single fuck that the two of them were naked and stretched out on the sofa, his lodger wandering in in the morning with a bowl of Coco Pops and switching on a David Attenborough documentary wasn't ideal. Secondly, as he'd pointed out when Eggsy complained that he couldn't be arsed to move all the way upstairs, they'd have more room. 

The first thing Harry noticed when he blinked himself awake - other than the bright white of the morning seeping through the thin curtains - was the warm, heavy arousal settled in his belly. Which for a moment, was rather confusing. He wasn't young anymore, and it was highly irregular for him to wake in such a state. But then his mind and body finally managed to sync up - Harry was assuredly not a morning person - and he felt the eager tongue working along his cock, the fingers digging into his hip, the rumbling groan from the person who was currently sucking him awake.

_Eggsy._

Fuck. Good morning indeed. He eased himself up onto his elbows so he could look down at where the boy was taking him deeper into his mouth, eyes closed, lips stretched and throat working, almost definitely the best thing Harry could have possibly woken up to. 

"Good morning, Eggsy," he said when he remembered how to speak. 

Eggsy's eyes flickered open, and he pulled back deliberately slow, until the head of Harry's cock was resting on his lip. "Mornin'," his voice was rough, hair in disarray and eyes bright, before he shot Harry a grin and took him back into his mouth. 

Harry didn't last an awful lot longer - God knows how long Eggsy had been at it before Harry'd finally woken - not with the boy looking up at him as he kissed Harry's cock, bobbed his head. Good God, what on earth had he done to be lucky enough to deserve this gorgeous creature in his bed?  
When he was through, Eggsy smugly straddling Harry's lap, cock hard and licking his lips, Harry took the barest of moments to let the image of it settle into his memory, and to regain the proper use of his limbs, before he gripped Eggsy tight about the middle and flipped them over so Eggsy was on his back. He took his time, as slowly as he could manage, stroking Eggsy's cock at an excruciatingly slow pace, until he was red-faced and almost in tears, back arching off the bed when Harry finally let him finish, coming over his belly and chest.

"Rita Hayworth used to say that men would go to bed with Gilda, and wake up with me," Eggsy said when he'd regained his breath, hesitant and not quite meeting Harry's eye as he lay across his chest.

"Her most famous part," Harry acknowledged carefully, not sure where Eggsy was going with the unexpected and seemingly random statement about classic cinema. My, but the boy was full of surprises.

"Men would go to bed with the dream, and didn't like it when they woke up with the real thing," he bit his lip, uncertain but determined, bless his heart, "d'you feel that way about me?"

Harry smiled, brought his hand up to stroke the back of Eggsys neck. "You're lovelier this morning than you've ever been, dear boy."

Eggsy grinned, shyness all but banished, as he pressed a wet kiss to Harry's cheek. "Good, 'cause you ain't getting rid of me that fucking easily."

Sometime later, Eggsy mumbled something about cleaning up, giving Harry a kiss on the nose before he jumped up, grabbing Harry's old dressing gown on the way out. He took a suspiciously long time going about it, and returned to the bedroom looking just as debauched as he had when he left, but sheepishly carrying a loaded breakfast try with him.

"I made breakfast," he said as he set the tray down on the sheets, shuffling along to sit carefully next to it.

"So I see," said Harry evenly, though inside he was sodding cartwheeling because no one had ever made him breakfast in bed before, unless you counted sharing a packet of chocolate digestives after a poorly thought out night with his friend Rupert in university. "That was thoughtful of you Eggsy, you didn't have to."

"I know," Eggsy shrugged, though he couldn't quite conceal how pleased he was by Harry's approval, leaning over to kiss the corner of Harry's mouth, "thought it might be nice though. And I dunno about you, but sex always leaves me fucking starving."

"Charming," said Harry, but he was smiling as he reached for a piece of toast all the same. 

It took them rather a while to get through all that Eggsy had brought up from the kitchen. Although he had wolfed down two slices of toast, some fruit and a pot of cherry yoghurt at a frankly alarming speed, once his hunger was partway sated Eggsy became somewhat less single-minded. He dipped his fingers in the jam and absently licked it away while Harry was talking, picked up grapes and corners of toast and held them to Harry's lips, waiting until he took them.

"If you carry on like that," Harry remarked after a long and jam-sticky kiss, "I shall never want to leave this bed at all."

"Fine by me," Eggsy said, and licked butter from his thumb. 

"No one's made me breakfast in bed before," Harry blurted before he could stop himself.

"Really?" Eggsy raised an eyebrow. "Not even when you was married?"

"My ex-wife was never much of a breakfast person," he said, mildly surprised by how easy it was to talk about it now he'd had a few years distance, "she was more of a grab a coffee on the way to work sort of girl. And in all honesty, I've always been rather a stickler for eating at the table. Though I think you may have swayed me into making exceptions, on that count," he nodded to the tray.

"I ain't much of a cook, but I never liked to turf someone out of bed without giving 'em something in the morning."

"So I noticed," Harry said. Eggsy snorted and elbowed him in the ribs.

Harry would very much liked to have remained in bed with a nude Eggsy and an assortment of breakfast foods forever, but unfortunately they drank all the tea, and he was forced to go down to the kitchen for more hot water. He pulled on his discarded pyjama bottoms and t-shirt for propriety's sake, and left Eggsy reclining across the bed with Harry's stolen dressing gown slipping open over his thigh, listing all the things he was going to do to Harry when he came back up. Harry snorted and feigned indifference, which only spurred him on all the more.  
Thankfully he didn't meet Valentine on the stairs, and he strolled into the kitchen feeling positively over the moon, a deep-seated contentment slowly spreading and settling through him at the thought of the lovely and utterly ridiculous man who'd somehow stumbled into his life, and who Harry very much hoped to keep in it for as long as he could. There were rather a lot of potential issues to be overcome if they were to continue seeing each other, yes, but nothing they couldn't work through surely. It was considerably more difficult to worry about those things - they seemed distant and irrelevant in comparison to a sleep-warm Eggsy tucked against his side, chatting happily away about the spoiled little pug he kept at home. 

The kettle clicked off the boil, and he crossed the kitchen to get the milk out of the fridge. He was just considering whether it would be viable for him to take Eggsy out to lunch and spoil him rotten without any media attention, when someone knocked on the door. It would be Gazzy, no doubt. She'd made a habit of calling in recently, what with Harry being rather more grumpy than usual, and the horrible timing was just typical. He'd have to try and see her off without her guessing at what exactly had happened to perk him up quite so suddenly and effectively, or she'd be up the stairs like a shot and cooing over the love bite Harry had left on Eggsy's chest. Strange girl, his sister.

But when he pulled open the front door, pyjamas low on his hips and teabags in hand, it was not his little sister waiting for him on the doorstep, but a hoard of paparazzi. The moment they noticed the door had opened, they surged closer, bellowing questions that he couldn't hear over the roaring in his ears, the flash of multiple cameras making him flinch and blink in shock. After a few seconds of shocked silence, he came back to himself enough to step back and pull the door shut on the baying masses, gaping down at his own bare feet in disbelief.

"Harry?" Eggsy's voice came down from the landing, "the fuck's taking you so long?"

Harry couldn't answer, just continued to stare dumbly at the door.

"Don't tell me you're having second thoughts about another go," Eggsy bounded down the stairs towards him, dressing gown tied loosely and flapping around his legs, "'cause my dick's halfway there already just thinking about it."

"Um..."

"Harry?" Mild concern flickered through Eggsy's voice when Harry continued not to answer, and he put a cautious hand on his shoulder. "You alright? What is it?" he asked, before he noticed Harry's fascination with the door. Too late, Harry registered Eggsy's hand reaching for the doorknob, turning, pulling it open.

"Eggsy, wait - "

_Bugger._

There was a horrible moment as the two of them stood, transfixed, on Harry's doorstep as the camera flashes went off all around them. Harry still dazed and with what was no doubt an atrocious bedhead, Eggsy gaping in shock, the pilfered robe half off his shoulder and beautifully showcasing the purpling mark Harry'd bitten there.

"Shit."

Eggsy came back to his senses before Harry did, and slammed the door shut, the yowling media frenzy trapped on the other side, wanting more. "Shit," Eggsy said again, with feeling, before he dashed off up the stairs without even looking at Harry. 

Harry stood alone in the hallway, tiles cold under his feet and waiting for things to start making sense again. In the end, it was the sound of Eggsy on the phone, shouting at some poor sod on the other end to send a car _as quickly as fucking possible mate,_ that jerked Harry back to himself. Eggsy was leaving. 

"What the fuck do you want me to say? My brilliant plan didn't turn out so fucking brilliant, did it?" Eggsy hung up the phone just as Harry walked into the bedroom. He was already dressed in his rumpled clothes from the day before, cap jammed over his messy hair and mouth set in a grim line as he pulled his scattered belongings together and into his sports bag. 

"You don't have to go, you know." _Please don't._

"Yeah, I do," Eggsy mumbled, looking resolutely down at his bag as he flung socks into it. 

"Look, I - I don't know what happened - "

"I do," Eggsy snapped, "your nutter of a lodger thought he'd get a bit of publicity for all his Greenpeace shit throwing it in alongside the fact that Gary fucking Unwin is shagging the bloke he lives with."

"Oh come now," Harry said, because Valentine was eccentric, but not a complete idiot, "surely he wouldn't have - " 

"How the fuck else did the press know where to find me Harry?" he said desperately. "And they got a picture of you all - " he gestured to Harry's dishevelled appearance, "and me right there next to you, looking so thoroughly post-fuck you'd have to be fucking blind not to put two and two together."

"I'm sorry, Eggsy," he said, because what else could he say in this bizarre situation?

"I fucked up." Eggsy shook his head, looking like he was torn between crying and punching something. "I came here to escape people chatting shit about me, and I've gone and made it a fuckload worse."

"Alright, just - let's just be calm about this - "

"You fucking stay calm," Eggsy bit out as he whirled about, wildly checking for any more of his belongings. "Bloody perfect for you this, isn't it? You've done fuck all and everywhere you go people'll give you a fucking pat on the back for shagging that famous actor, well-fucking-done Harry Hart. Maybe it'll get you more business," he said, mouth curled in a humourless smirk, "come get measured for a suit from the bloke who stuck his dick in Gary Unwin."

"It can't be that bad, Eggsy," he tried, wrongfooted, and hurt that Eggsy would think that of him. He hoped it was fear and anger making him say it, rather than genuine belief. 

_"Can't be that bad?"_ Eggsy said incredulously. "The fuck are you on about?"

"Perhaps if we just - "

"Harry, if you offer me a cup of tea, I swear to God I will fucking deck you," he grabbed his bag and headed downstairs, Harry close on his tail. "I'm going home."

"Eggsy, please just wait a moment," Harry said when they were in the hallway, because fucked if he was letting him just waltz out of the door without trying to convince him to stay, or at least to speak his piece, if nothing else. "Does this really matter, in the grand scheme of things?"

"You're not going to pull a Valentine on me and whip out some leaflets about refugees or rhinos are you?" Eggsy said flatly.

"I'm asking for some perspective, Eggsy, that's all."

"Harry, I'm gunna try and say this nicely, 'cause you're starting to get on my tits," Eggsy said, "but I've been dealing with this shit for years, and you've been dealing with it all of ten minutes, so our perspectives on that are pretty fucking different, okay?"

"Look, come tomorrow, today's papers will mean nothing. It's not as though people keep them for posterity," Harry tired again to placate him, anything to stop him leaving.

"What?"

"I mean - It's just one day."

"It's the age of the fucking internet Harry, nothing is just one day."

"But - "

"You don't get it do you?" Eggsy rounded on him when they reached the front door, eyes bright with anger. "Every time someone Googles my name this shit'll come up, Harry. It'll last forever. I'll regret this forever." His jaw clenched tight as soon as the words were out of his mouth, as though trying, too late, to keep them in. 

Well. That was rather a kick in the balls. "Right. I see."

Eggsy looked a little bit guilty at that, his gaze sliding away to study the floor, hand making a funny little abortive movement by his side as though he was about to reach out and thought better of it. But in the next moment it was gone, he steeled himself and straightened up, defiant. 

"Well," Harry cleared his throat and took a step back out of Eggsy's space. "I shall do the opposite Eggsy, if that's alright with you. I might go as far as to say I'll treasure it, though I know you won't feel the same. Because you're right, of course you are." He allowed himself one last look over Eggsy's drawn but still beautiful face, hoping he'd remember him more as the man he'd shared tea and toast and lazy kisses with an hour before, and not the angry, regretful one desperate to be out of his sight. "You'd better go."

Eggsy pulled the peak of his hat low over his face, and slipped out of the door to his waiting security team, who dragged him through the baying masses to safety.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Ain't no sunshine when she's gooooone*

The months after that passed in rather a blur. Though Harry thought the word 'smudge' might have been more apt, like a child deliberately running a muddy finger across a smooth stretch of wall, as one dull day ran seamlessly into the next. Alright, yes, his tendency to the melodramatic might have come into play a little, but this time it was bloody justified. He barely noticed when summer slipped into a blustery autumn, nor when the last dregs of sunshine were lost to chilly nights and snow on the pavements. He didn't much care when it finally melted, Christmas lights were packed up, and bunches of daffodils began to appear on the market stalls instead. He sold ties and shirts and cufflinks, booked appointments and took measurements, accidentally pricked more clients with pins than he ever had before, much to his annoyance.   
As he'd predicted, the media had taken little interest in him after a week or two. He did a mostly passable job at concealing what Merlin referred to as his 'eternal sulk' when they were all together, at birthdays and Christmas and the like. Once, bless her heart, Gazzy had skipped into the shop and presented Harry proudly with the phone number of Eggsy's agent, both in London and in the States, as though it were a simple matter of picking up the phone. He'd thanked her sincerely, and dropped the number in the wastepaper basket. It wasn't painful, exactly, when he allowed himself to think about it. But Eggsy had been right when he'd said it would be all about regret. Not regret for what they'd done, as Harry had thought he'd meant at the time, but regret for how they let it go so wrong. But he followed the advice printed on every tacky item conceivable sold every day in the market to unsuspecting tourists, and kept calm, and carried on. 

One evening, the group of them were gathered in James' house for dinner, which they'd of course ordered in, because he couldn't cook for shit. But, true to form, he had produced an astonishing amount of particularly good booze, so not all was lost. Though he was getting through it at quite a pace, even for him, which was explained by the announcement he made once they'd finished eating. 

"I've been given the boot," he said around his mouthful of port.

"What?"

"No!"

"What on earth happened?"

"Well," he said, rather too cheerfully for someone who'd recently been put out of a job, "same old story I'm afraid. They wanted some new blood, I fear."

"James, I am sorry," Merlin began, before James cut him off with a wave of his hand.

"Don't be. You all know I didn't give a rat's arse about accounting. Perhaps I'll try something new," he shrugged, gave them all a grin that looked mostly like his old self. "I always rather fancied myself a gentleman spy."

This unexpected announcement was swiftly followed by another, in the shape of Gazzy and Valentine saying they were going to take a six month trip out to the Amazon to help on a conservation project. Harry was taken aback by the news for all of two minutes, before realising that he was actually surprised Valentine hadn't done something of the sort already, and that he'd been half expecting it of Gazzy ever she was eleven, and had embarked on a rigorous anti-foxhunting campaign. The slew of announcements and the several bottles of wine led Harry to think bugger it, and called for silence to make a speech of his own.

"I'll only be a moment," he said when James started good-naturedly booing him, and Harry threw a coaster at him to shut him up. "Now. You all know I've been somewhat down in the mouth the past few months - "

"That's an understatement," Merlin huffed, "there are dead people on better form, Harry." 

"But I just want to tell you that I've turned a corner," he cut smoothly across Merlin's snark, "and henceforward intend to be impressively happy." Roxy gave him a kiss on the cheek, Honey reached over to pat his shoulder, and that was that.

An hour or two later, and they were all rather horribly drunk. James had, as he was wont to do when shitfaced, taken a seat at the piano and was slurring his way through whatever tune happened to take his fancy. At that moment, it turned out to be It Must Have Been Love from Pretty Woman, which wasn't exactly helping Harry's resolution to stop being such a lovelorn, grumpy bugger. Valentine swayed around the room, humming along to the music and embarking on a strange sort of solo slow dance. Gazzy had half climbed into Roxy's chair with her as they lamented how much they'd miss each other while the former was away. Harry and Merlin had taken up residence at one end of the long dining table, working their way through one of James' nicer whiskies. 

"So you've laid the ghost?" Merlin asked, pouring them each another generous glass. For all his faults, James was a genuinely giving person, and wouldn't give a flying fuck if they drank the whole bottle, as long as they enjoyed it. 

"I believe so," said Harry carefully.

"Don't give a damn about the famous boy?"

"I shall remember him fondly of course," said Harry, "but in general, no." He almost believed it, some days. 

"Then you won't be distracted at all by the fact that he's back in London, grasping his Oscar, and currently filming most days up on Hampstead Heath," he handed Harry his phone. On the screen was an article dedicated to Eggsy, complete with photograph of him beaming and holding what did appear to be an Oscar, with who he presumed to be Eggsy's mother kissing his cheek.

"Oh God," Harry winced and reached for his glass. 

"So not over him at all, in fact," said Merlin loftily, and sipped his whiskey.

~

The next morning, when his headache had abated enough for him to function, Harry stepped out into the sunshine and headed up to the Heath. It was a truly lovely day, the sort that on most occasions could make everything seem that little bit better, though Harry was so full of apprehension and lingering hangover that it didn't make an awful lot of difference. He made his way across the gentle sloping green of the grounds, avoiding the crew members darting to and fro, extras and stuntmen all seemingly decked out in rather nice suits, and people lugging heavy equipment. The set was busiest surrounding the building at the top of the hill, all smooth white walls and large windows, where he presumed the majority of the scene was to be filmed. 

There followed a rather awkward moment when he tried to persuade security to let him through, having come up with no semblance of a plan, and really, had he honestly expected to just walk onto the set? Fortunately, that was the moment when Eggsy stepped out of the make up trailer and into the sun, itching delicately at his nose. He was dressed to the nines, in a really very lovely navy blue suit that Harry couldn't have made better himself, and holding an umbrella, of all things. His hair was longer than Harry remembered, neatly parted and smoothed back, thick-framed glasses on his nose, and his shoes were shined so expertly the ruddy sunlight was bouncing off them. God, he looked so utterly perfect, every line of him tailored flawlessly, on a knife edge, and Harry felt an odd sort of pride at how put together he seemed. It also had him wanting to drag him back into that trailer and mess him up a bit, though that wasn't a very helpful thought for the time being. Eggsy caught his eye just as he emerged from the trailer, and after blinking at him a moment, mouth a perfect little 'o' of surprise, walked sheepishly over. 

"Harry," he said breathlessly. "Hi." 

"Hello." Truth be told, Harry was struck dumb by simply seeing him again after so long, taking in each of the minute changes about him made by time apart, and yet just as he remembered him.

"This is... fuck." Harry couldn't have said it better himself.

"I had no idea you were here until yesterday," said Harry honestly, when he'd found his tongue. He'd mostly avoided reading anything celebrity related in the papers, to save himself the grief. Would he have come earlier if he'd known... he would liked to have said no, but truthfully he probably wouldn't have been able to help himself, despite knowing the outcome may not be pleasant.

"I was gunna call you or something, but..." Eggsy lifted a hand to run it through his hair, hastily drawing it back when he realised it would ruin the style, and twisted the umbrella between his hands instead. "Look, it's our last day, and things have sort of gone to shit, to be honest. But if you could maybe hang around?" Eggsy said, almost imploring, and really, how was Harry ever meant to refuse? "There's some things I want to - want to say."

"I - yes. Alright."

"Good," Eggsy nodded, as though everything was sorted already, before he was swept away by a swarm of crew members. "Drink tea," he flashed Harry a smile almost as bright as he used to months ago, before all the mess. "There's lots of tea."

Harry was left reeling, watching dumbly as Eggsy was led away.

"So are you a fan of spy movies?" said the tech who handed him a pair of headphones to listen in, sat him down in front of a screen to watch the scene Eggsy was about to film.

"It's a spy film?" Harry asked, surprised, and remembered the scant minutes he and Eggsy had spent chatting about the old Bond films over two day old lemon cheesecake in his kitchen.

"Yep," the tech said proudly, "it's gunna be mental, you just fucking wait."

Harry slipped on the headphones, and sat down to watch the front of the building, where they were setting up for the scene. Eggsy was standing some distance away, script and water bottle in hand, and speaking with the beautiful Swedish actress known only as Tilde. Huh. James would be pleased - he owned her entire back catalogue. He would also be delighted to learn that she had a rather filthy mouth, which Harry discovered as he listened to she and Eggsy chatting while things were set up. 

"It's a terrible pity that arse is stuck behind the camera," she said, wistfully looking on as a boy on the lighting crew bent over to check a wire, "it's really very lovely."

"Oh yeah?" Eggsy grinned. "Expert, are you?"

"I prefer the term connoisseur," she sniffed haughtily, and Eggsy snorted with laughter.

"It's nice enough," Eggsy conceded as he eyed up said arse, and Harry felt an uncomfortable little niggle of jealousy that he hadn't felt since he'd stood awkwardly to the side as Eggsy was snogged senseless by Charlie Hesketh. 

"But there's another one you prefer?"

"Nah, don't be daft. I'm all about work at the moment." Harry couldn't even pretend to himself he wasn't relieved to hear him say that.

"So who was that rather handsome looking gentleman I saw you talking to?" Tilde said when the arses of her co-workers lost her attention, and Harry tensed in his seat. "He looks as though he could dish out a spanking so phenomenal you wouldn't be able to sit for days and get you to thank him for it afterwards."

"Jesus fuck, Tilde," Eggsy rolled his eyes, and Harry lamented he was sitting so far away - he couldn't tell if Eggsy was blushing or not from such a distance. "Nobody really," he said, and the light-heartedness Harry had been feeling since he'd set eyes on Eggsy again stuttered. "Just some bloke I sort of know. Bit awkward really. I don't even know what he's doing here, but I couldn't figure out how to ask him to leave."

Ah. Right then. 

Any hope Harry might have been feeling about their seeing each other again was thoroughly trampled with nothing more than a few flippant words from Eggsy. Not so keen to speak with Harry after all then, it seemed. He should have known. Silly really, to get his hopes up, to think that everything would magically be alright if he could just see Eggsy again. That wasn't how things worked in reality, only in the movies, and it was his own fault for naively thinking fate might make an exception for him. Feeling stung and brittle and a foolish old man, he handed the headphones to the confused looking tech, and headed back out of the set and across the green. He made sure to keep his steps careful and measured, so no one would know how much he wanted to scream and throw things, and so that when he told this story to Merlin later on, he couldn't be accused of flouncing off in a huff.


	9. Chapter 9

The next day, Harry was finalising some details of a suit order with a customer. He was a steady type, been coming to Harry for years, and as such didn't require a great deal of focus on Harry's part. For which he was thankful, because his head was very much elsewhere. So much so, that he didn't even notice when the very thing his thoughts were so preoccupied with wandered into the shop.  
Harry heard someone clear their throat to get his attention, and mentally prepared himself to deal with the customer in a way that didn't involve a sound slap to the face and a talk about manners. But when he looked up from his order book, it was to see Eggsy, dressed in his normal clothes again, and a parcel wrapped in brown paper under his arm. He stared for a moment, Mr Bennetts still rambling on about lapel widths, until Eggsy swallowed nervously and he was forced to concede he was not in fact hallucinating. In his daydreams, Eggsy was never so uncertain. 

"I do apologise, Mr Bennetts," Harry cut smoothly across the man's wittering, not looking away from where Eggsy was awkwardly waiting, "but might you excuse me for a moment?"

He didn't know whether the man answered or not as he was already halfway across the room, his attention focused solely on the boy waiting there for him, sunny yellow cap pushed back from his face and nervously chewing on his lip. Harry was so hopelessly, irredeemably far gone, it hurt. 

"Hi." It was embarrassing how one syllable could affect him so.

"Eggsy."

"You um, you left yesterday. Before we could speak. I was hoping we could - well I don't know exactly," his lips twitched up in a small, nervous smile.

"Yes. I didn't want to disturb."

"Oh," said Eggsy, not entirely convinced but unwilling to press it, "right. Well, how've you been? And - and Roxy and Merlin and everybody?"

"Fine, all fine, thank you for asking. Same old, really," said Harry, hating that all he could dredge up was empty small talk. "But not for you I see. All awards and glory."

Eggsy gave a self-deprecating little shrug. "Nah mate, means nothing really, does it? In the grand scheme of things..." he trailed off, and Harry didn't answer. "Anyway, yesterday was the last day of filming, and I'm heading over to the states for a while. Flying out tonight, actually. But I, um, brought you something." He held out the package he had under his arm, tentative, as though Harry would refuse to take it. 

He almost didn't. It was only an odd sort of polite reflex that made him reach out. It was surprisingly heavy. "Shall I - ?"

"Nah, don't open it now. I'll be embarrassed."

That was intriguing in and of itself. "Thank you. I don't know what it is but I'm sure I'll love it regardless."

"I've had it a while," Eggsy admitted. "I really was gunna call you or something, but I didn't know what I was meant to say, after being such a dick the last time I saw you, and... its just been sort of sat in the hotel. The thing is - " he stopped. Bit his lip again. Harry wanted to press his fingers to it, soothe away the sting.

"The thing is?" he prompted, before he had the chance to give in to himself and reach over to do it regardless.

"Well, like I said, I hafta go. But I wondered that if I didn't have to you might let me see you a little bit. Or a lot, maybe," he peered hopefully up at Harry. "See if you could like me again."

It couldn't be that easy. It just couldn't. Harry took a moment to regroup. "But yesterday you completely dismissed me when you were talking to Tilde. I was given headphones," he said in reply to Eggsy's confused expression, "to listen in. And so I heard, you see, when you said I was nothing."

"Right," Eggsy narrowed his eyes, "and you expect me to just dish out details of my life to the actress with the biggest mouth in all of Europe? Last fucking thing I wanted was Tilde sniffing around my love life. Or..." his eyes flicked down to the floor, "lack of."

It was then, with the farcical and inevitably bad timing that always seemed to go with these things, that Harry's phone rang. He'd already decided not to pick it up, but when on looking at the screen he saw it was his mother, who'd he'd promised to call back over a week ago, he somehow ended up pressing answer.

"Hello Mummy. Yes, I know I'm sorry," he delicately covered his phone with a hand. "Eggsy, I'm sorry but could you bear with me just one moment?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure."

Harry moved around the corner for a moment to give them both the illusion of privacy, making noises of approval or disapproval into the phone when required, as his mother updated him on what felt like every aspect of her life. In between her lamenting about a pain in her foot, he caught fragments of a conversation poor Eggsy was stuck in with Harry's customer - he seemed to think he played a footman on Downton Abbey, and kept asking what it was like to work with Maggie Smith. He felt a sort of numbness, an unreality. All that he could have wanted, dreamed about for months now, was standing right there in front of him, and he couldn't bring himself to say yes. If he did, he'd have to live with the constant worry of losing it all. He'd already lost Eggsy what felt like multiple times since they'd met, and the possibility of it happening again, once he'd allowed himself to really hope that it might be forever... he wasn't sure it was something he could get through, in all honesty.   
The customer scuttled off in embarrassment despite Eggsy's assurances it happened all the time, and Harry bid his mother goodbye with a promise to call again soon. 

"Sorry about that," he said as he came back around the corner, and looking across to Eggsy was just as intense as it had ever been, an aching punch to the stomach, tangible enough to make him feel like doubling over at the sensation.

"S'alright," Eggsy said with an apprehensive smile that made every part of Harry feel twisted around the wrong way. "It's like when I was younger - jury always goes out before they deliver a verdict, yeah?"

"I like to think of myself as a rational, level-headed sort of man, though I admit prone to small bouts of melodrama," Harry acquiesced, and Eggsy flashed him that soft little hope-filled smile again and he couldn't bear to see it even once more. "And I've not been often in and out of love," he swallowed. "Both of which, along with a number of other factors, mean that I must say no, to your kind request, Eggsy." 

"Oh," Eggsy blinked at him, it was clear that wasn't the answer he was expecting. "Yeah that's fine, I'll just - " his jaw worked as he floundered to get the words out, every line of his body tense, "I'll just be off then."

"You see, the thing is with you," Harry said before Eggsy could leave, had to give him something else, a more concrete reason. Or just another excuse for himself, he wasn't sure which, "the thing is, it seems like a perfect situation. One which I could easily let myself fall into again and to hell with the consequences. But I don't think I could struggle on if I were cast aside again, as I would expect and probably rather deserve to be. There's a lot of reminders of you about you see - films, magazines, your face on the side of buses... You'd go, Eggsy, in the end. And I'd be buggered."

"Well," Eggsy said, quiet and breathless, wilting as the tension left him, "that's a pretty firm no, Harry."

"The two of us are worlds apart Eggsy. And I fear there's nothing that could change that." Abstractly, he could see himself watching the scene playing out, as if it were one of Eggsy's films. The one where the romantic lead is making a terrible mistake which they seem perfectly oblivious to, while the audience bellows at the screen for their stupidity.

"Nah it's okay," Eggsy said, smile somewhat watery, and Harry briefly had to look away, "good decision, yeah?" He took a breath, cleared his throat. "But you know, the fame thing isn't real, Harry. It don't mean nothing. You told me that, that day when I left you, and it turns out you were fucking right. Course you were right. At the end of the day, I'm just a bloke like any other, Harry. A bloke, standing in front of an admittedly more dapper bloke," he flashed an odd, cracked smile, "and askin' you to love me."

Harry was unable to answer, just blinked dumbly, and held back the multitude of things he wanted to say. He had to let Eggsy go, it would be better for the both of them in the long run, save them both the hurts they'd bring on each other down the line. It hurt to keep his mouth shut, of fucking course it did, with Eggsy within touching distance and falling apart before his eyes, but at least this way, they both had a chance at making it out relatively whole. Or Eggsy had a chance anyway, Harry was fairly certain he was already ruined. As the silence stretched on, Eggsy had no choice but to accept that Harry's mind was made up. He moved forward to press a small kiss to Harry's cheek, and in another universe, Harry would have grabbed hold of him tight and told him to stay. 

"Bye then."

And just like that, Eggsy was gone again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In certain photographs, Taron Egerton and Ed Speleers look weirdly similar. I noticed it before I'd even seen Kingsman, when a photo of Taron would pop up on my dash and I'd do a double take, thinking it was Jimmy Kent (from Downton.)


	10. Chapter 10

As soon as his wits had returned, Harry had grabbed his phone and the parcel Eggsy had left him, and dashed off to Merlin and Roxy's - they should've been home from work, given the hour - where he would no doubt find Gazzy and James as well. Fuck the wistful melancholy he would usually employ, he wasn't doing this on his own, not this time. Even Valentine had turned up, and though how useful he'd be in practice was another matter, Harry was vaguely touched that his romantic life placed somewhere amongst the strange man's priorities. As such, the group of them were now sitting in Merlin and Roxy's living room, regarding Harry with that awful look people tended to reserve for when you're ill, or done something that particular brand of stupid and they don't know how to tell you.

"I mean, yes," Roxy said with a brisk nod when Harry had relayed the afternoon's events, skipping neatly over the part where he felt as though he'd yanked his own heart out and drop kicked it into the Thames, "when all's said and done... good decision. Right? Merlin?" she elbowed her husband in the ribs.

"Yes of course," he said, rather unconvincingly, rubbing at his side, "all actors are mad." 

"He was nothing special anyway," James said with false cheer, and Harry felt irrationally angry with him for saying it.

"If you ask me, you're a fucking idiot, man," said Valentine, holding his hands up in defence when Gazzy scowled at him. "Just saying. The fuck you say no to him for?"

There was a loaded silence as the rest of the gathering in the room was unable to contradict his point, looking guiltily across at each other, and Harry' eyes landed on the parcel from Eggsy again. He'd unwrapped it as soon as he'd gotten to Merlin's, brown paper falling neatly away to reveal a butterfly mounted in a glass case. Harry had nearly dropped the bloody thing when he'd recognised it's significance. 

"I might be wrong," Roxy said hesitantly, when she noticed where he was looking, "but isn't that that obscenely expensive rare butterfly you've been fighting tooth and claw to get hold of since you were at school?" 

"Yes. I... believe it is." Harry would've known it anywhere. So would Merlin, come to that - having spent their entire time at university listening to Harry bemoaning that he'd never own one. Another tense silence as he looked from the butterfly to his friends' solemn faces, and Jesus sodding Christ he'd completely buggered it all up. 

"He said he wanted to be with you?" said James, frowning in thought.

"Well, yes," said Harry. Surely that much had been evident.

"That's nice."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Well, anyone saying they want to go out with you's pretty fabulous, isn't it?" James said in an infuriatingly blasé tone that didn't do justice to the situation at all. 

"I - " Harry blinked at him a moment before relenting. "It was sort of sweet, actually. I know he's an actor, and by all accounts it may well have been nothing but a line... But he said that, in the end, he was just a man like any other, standing in front of me, and asking me to love him."

More radio silence from his collective friends, and it began to dawn on Harry that maybe, just maybe, he'd made one of the worst mistakes of his life.

"Sod a dog, I've made the wrong decision haven't I."

"You bet your ass you have," said Valentine, with feeling. "I motherfucking told you so."

"Merlin," Harry ignored him, "how fast is your car?"

Which was how they all ended up squashing into Merlin's Prius, Roxy in the front seat because Merlin refused to leave her behind, Valentine in the boot and looking a bit green in the face, and everyone else stuffed in however they could fit. 

"Where to?" Merlin said, plugging in his seatbelt. 

"Oh fuck I don't know," said Harry, desperately trying to think where Eggsy might be - he hadn't said earlier. "The Ritz," he said eventually. "It's where he stayed last time and it's all I can bloody think of right now."

"Which way are you going?" said Roxy as Merlin pulled away from the curb.

"Kensington Church Street," said Merlin as he checked his mirror, "then Knightsbridge, then Hyde Park Corner."

"Sod that, go along Bayswater," said Roxy.

"Yeah then Park Lane," Gazzy piped up. 

"God no," James butted in, "go straight down the Cromwell road then left - "

"No!" the two girls shut him down at once.

"Fucking hell!" Merlin slammed on the brakes and everyone ceased their bickering. "I'm fucking driving, and I'll fucking well decide which way we go. Alright?"

He was met with a chorus of meek "sorry Merlin"s and an apologetic pat on the arm from Roxy.

"James Bond never had to put up with this shite," Merlin muttered to himself as he pulled into the traffic. 

One truly farcical car chase later - including a case of particularly nasty congestion in which Valentine clambered out of the car wailing about true love, and stopped traffic so they could get through by standing in front of it - and they were at the hotel. They eventually managed to get out of the man behind the front desk that a Mr Pocahontas - another cartoon favourite of Eggsy's sister, no doubt - had already checked out and was currently part way through a press conference in one of the larger suites of the hotel. 

Harry let himself in to the suite, breathing rather hard from all the dashing about, but largely unnoticed by the other occupants of the room. He stood right at the back of the shifting crowd of invited press, getting his bearings, and there, at the front seated next to his manager and smiling tightly in a way that barely concealed how miserable he looked, was Eggsy. Harry'd seen him not two hours ago, and he looked like a different person; listless and tired, shadows under his eyes despite the make up they would have undoubtedly layered on for the conference, and fiddling with a water bottle on the table. It would be rather self-important of Harry to think that it was him who'd caused Eggsy to look so out of sorts, but there was no other explanation forthcoming. 

"Does this mean Mr Unwin won't be publicising his next film?" Harry heard a journo ask when he'd checked back in.

"Not at all," Eggsy's carefully smiling manager replied, "he'll be abiding by all of his present commitments, he just wont be making any more for the next year."

"And when will the film be released?" asked another when called upon.

"If all goes acoording to plan," said the manager, while Eggsy looked glumly at the little piece of card with his name on sitting on the table top, "it'll be on the big screen in America in the autumn, and over here around Christmas or in the new year. Next question, please."

"How much longer are you staying in the UK?"

The direct address jolted Eggsy out of his apparent stupor, and he blinked himself back to attention and mustered up half a lukewarm smile that made Harry's chest ache. "I'm leavin' tonight."

This was met by muttering from the crowd as they took down notes, cut short by Eggsy's manager calling for any quiet. "Okay then, any final questions? The lady at the front there."

"Is your decision to take some time off anything to do with the rumours about Charlie Hesketh and his new leading lady?"

Eggsy snorted and rolled his eyes, and Harry finally caught a glimpse of the Eggsy he knew, bright and defiant. "Nah, course not. You're having a laugh, right?"

"Do you believe the rumours?" the lady continued.

"Well it really ain't my business any more yeah? But in my experience rumours about Charlie sodding Hesketh are usually true," Eggsy finished with conviction, receiving a discreet glare from his manager. 

"The last time you were here," asked the next reporter when the laughter at Eggsy's last comment had died down, "there were some fairly graphic pictures of you taken with an older bloke. What happened there?" Harry's stomach lurched as he watched the flicker of discomfort cross Eggsy's face, before he did what he was trained to do and slapped on a smile.

"He was just a mate, helping me through a rough patch," Eggsy shrugged. "We're still mates, I hope."

There was something in Eggsy's face, the sadness and the resignation, and knowing it was he who'd put it there, that made Harry think fuck it. Things certainly couldn't have got any worse. He stepped forward from where he was lurking behind a photographer, and slowly raised his hand to catch the attention of the manager.

"Yes," he smiled genially and gestured to Harry, "the gentleman at the back there, with the pocket square."

"Are there any circumstances," he started, watching Eggsy's attention snap over to him when he recognised his voice, "under which the two of you might be more than just 'mates?'" The question was a bit of an odd one after Eggsy's previous answer effectively closing the matter, and several of the crowd turned to look at Harry in curiosity.

"I thought so," Eggsy gathered himself up like a champ, sat straighter in his chair and unwaveringly met Harry's eye, "but he made it pretty clear he wasn't down for that."

Alright, there was no doubt that Harry deserved that. But they were too close for him to let it slip away quite so easily. "But what if this man - "

"Hart," supplied one of the reporters, helpfully, "his name was Hart."

"Right," Harry took a moment to get over the utter farce that the day was turning out to be, "thanks." He cleared his throat, turned his attention back to the front of the room where Eggsy was watching him expectantly. "What if Mr Hart realised that he'd been a bit of a daft old prick, got down off his high horse and on to his knees and begged you to reconsider..." he paused, wondering if the softening in Eggsy's expression was no more than wishful thinking, "would you?"

He watched, more nervous than he'd ever been in his damn life, as Eggsy leant over to whisper something in his manager's ear. The long-suffering manager gave Eggsy an exasperated look before throwing his hands up in the air, resigned to whatever new ridiculous demand his charge had asked of him. When Eggsy sat back up, he was biting his lip to hold in a grin, and Harry felt his hopes creep a little higher.

"I might," Eggsy said, affecting an air of disinterest. "Oi mate," he called to one of the reporters who'd questioned him earlier, "ask your question again, yeah?"

"Alright," said the man, bewildered. "Mr Unwin, how long will you be staying in the UK?"

Eggsy met Harry's eyes, not looking away as he said, clearly and evenly, "for as long as Mr Hart here'll have me."

There was a moment of silence, awed and confused, as the crowd caught on to exactly what was happening. But then it was gone, taken over by gasps and mutterings that grew into a storm of tumultuous questions and demands that Harry barely even heard. Cameras flashed while the two of them stared happily at each other across the room, Eggsy giving in and laughing joyously at the madness of it while Harry shook his head in fond disbelief. He knew full well he'd regret the dopey smile that was plastered across his face so wide it almost hurt tomorrow, when it was splashed across every newspaper in the country. He'd be getting another phone call from his mother, that was for certain.   
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Merlin and Roxy looking on, hands clasped tight. Valentine had gone as far as to lift Gazzy up and swing her around, half screaming half laughing when she accidentally knocked his hat off. James seemed to be making use of the celebratory atmosphere by chatting up one of the journalists, who had thick-rimmed glasses and a pristine suit, and looked as though he couldn't decide whether to punch him or go along with it. 

But it all faded away, the people and the camera flashes and the endless questions, and Harry was left with a giddy obliviousness to everything other than the man grinning at him across the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn right I snuck an unecessary Percilot reference in there.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little epilogue thing.

It was unbelievable, when he looked back on his life before Eggsy, just how much things had changed. Harry's life was no longer just his, but his and Eggsy's, and he wouldn't have it any other way. He had been a little out of his depth in the beginning, in the aftermath of the rather public announcement of their relationship, the constant attention of the press, and not all of it positive. There were parties and movie premieres, where he and Eggsy dressed impeccably and slid smoothly out of cars that cost more than Harry wanted to know, hands clasped as they cruised down the red carpet at the Oscars, the BAFTAs, other smaller but equally overwhelming events. Eggsy stroking his thumb along Harry's wrist as they walked, whispering nonsense in his ear as the entire world watched their progress, made it all seem a game, a pretence, made it easier to walk tall and calm as if it were nothing. The most bizarre thing of all was watching Eggsy on talk shows, sitting at home in his dressing gown while Jonathan Ross inquired after their relationship. 

Eggsy had been right, it turned out, when he'd said that none of it was real. Something Harry remembered every evening they were at home together trying to cook something or watching telly, just as millions of others would be. Eggsy's little pug came to live with them, and for all his bad habits it was nice to have an actual, living dog in the house again. They had dinner with Roxy and Merlin every so often, when they all ate too much food and drank too much wine, and it was really no different to how it had always been, excepting that no one lamented over Harry's single life, and that Eggsy had a habit of feeling him up under the dinner table. Meeting Eggsy's mother was just as daunting as it would have been under any circumstances. World famous actor worth millions or not, Eggsy still looked apprehensive when they sat down in the restaurant, Michelle Unwin narrowing her eyes at Harry as she figured out whether he was good enough for her baby boy.

"I told you it'd be alright," said Eggsy, eyes closed against the sun and his head resting in Harry's lap.

"What would be alright, darling?" Harry replied, shifting slightly where he sat on the park bench, his fingers in Eggsy's hair.

"This," Eggsy blindly waved a hand, gesturing to the pair of them, "us." 

"Yes, you did," Harry agreed. "Though I wish I'd listened to you a little sooner and saved us both some trouble."

"Mm," Eggsy opened his eyes, smiling softly, craning up for a kiss. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, sleepy and sun-warm, the air heavy with the green smell of cut grass and the distant shouts of children playing. JB snuffled around at their feet, more than happy to be spending the afternoon lounging in the park rather than anything more strenuous. 

"We should get married," said Eggsy from nowhere, and half-smothered by a yawn.

Harry said nothing for a minute, not sure if Eggsy was joking, or maybe he'd heard him wrong. Around them, the rest of the people in the park carried on, walking their dogs and pushing their bikes under the trees, unaware of the monumental thing Eggsy had just uttered. "We should?" he said carefully.

"Yep," Eggsy said, cracking one eye open. "It would be pretty fucking great, wouldn't it?"

"I - " Harry stumbled over his words, a rare occurrence in his old life, but something that happened with increasing regularity since Eggsy had crashed into it. "Well, yes , it would. But are you quite serious, Eggsy? Is this," he asked, needing to be sure, "is this a proposal?" 

"Yeah."

"Oh."

"What do you think then?" Eggsy blinked up at him, hand over his eyes to shield them from the afternoon sun. "Don't leave a bloke hangin' Harry. Where are your manners?" 

"I - " Harry hesitated again, not through indecision, but because the absurd relaxedness of it made it seem unreal. "Yes."

"You mean it?" Eggsy said, finally looking more at the appropriate level of excitement the situation called for.

"Of course I do," Harry gently manoeuvred Eggsy so they were both sitting, facing each other on the bench. "My dear boy, how could I possibly answer anything else?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic ended up being a lot longer than I guessed - I had no word count while I was writing it. I'm almost certain I've ballsed it up somewhere while I was trying to post it, so I'll check through for mistakes later.   
> And that's that. Thanks for sticking it through to the end :)


End file.
